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In leather- neck Ian •fit a ire 



and the 
situation 
is well in hand!" 


Tested treatment attack* infec- 
tion. 76% of test cases noted 
marked impro vement in symp- ^ 
torn*. Easy, quick, delightful, f 
No mess, no grease. 

ITCHY SCALP and inflamma 
tion, tell-tale flakes and scales 
are plenty of trouble for anybody, 
even for a husky Marine who takes trouble as it 
comes! 

These are symptoms that shouldn't be neglected, 
for dandruff is often infectious. And these symp- 
toms may mean that you have the infectious type 
of dandruff . . . that millions of germs are at work 
on your scalp. 

Now, the sensible way to fight an infectious con- 
dition is with antiseptic action which attacks large 
numbers of the germs that accompany the infection 
and quickly kills them. 

When Listerine Antiseptic is massaged onto your 
scalp, it's the finish of literally millions of germs 
associated with infectious dandruff! Even the 
strange and stubborn "bottle bacillus" is killed in 
vast numbers! This is the same "bottle bacillus" — 
Pityrosporum ovale— that many leading authorities 
brand as a causative agent of infectious dandruff. 

Listerine gives scalp and hair a cool, invigorating 
antiseptic bath. Ugly, loosened dandruff scales be- 
gin to disappear. Itching and irritation are relieved. 
Your scalp feels better, your hair looks cleaner. 

Scientific tests showed amazing results. In one 
series of clinical tests, under exacting conditions, 


76<% of the dandruff sufferers who used Listerine 
Antiseptic and massage twice a day showed com- 
plete disappearance of, or marked improvement in, 
the symptoms within a month. 

In addition to this, men and women all over 
America have written enthusiastic letters, telling 
how delighted they are with the results of the 
Listerine Antiseptic home treatment. 

If you have this troublesome scalp condition, 
don't delay treatment. Neglect may aggravate the 
symptoms. Start today with Listerine Antiseptic 
and massage. Give Listerine a chance to do for you 
what it has done for so many others. 

Lambert Pharmacal Company, St. Louis, Mo. 


THE TREATMENT 

MEN: Douse full strength Listerine on the 
scalp morning 'and night. 

WOMEN: Pali the hair at various places, and 
apply Listerine Antiseptic. 

Always follow with vigorous and persistent 
massage. Listerine is the same. antiseptic that has 
been famous for more than 50 years as a gargle. 


Listerine for 


INFECTIOUS DANDRUFF 


the tested 
treatment 


AMAZING STORIES 



I will Train You at Home in Spare Time 
for a GOOD JOB IN RADIO 


Hern la & aulck way to more pay. Radio of- 
fers the chance to make 15, 110 a weeS ex- 
tra In spare time a few months from now. 
There Is an Increasing demand for full time 
Radio Technicians and Radio Operators, too. 
Many make $30, $40. $50 a weed. On top 
of record business, the Radio Industry Is 
getting millions and millions of dollars ip 
iMcnse Orders. Clip the coupon below and 
mail It. Find out how I train you for these 
opportunities. 

WJiy Many Radio Technicians I Train 
Mat* $30, $40, $50 a Week 

Over fOO broadcasting stations In the U. S. 
etimloy thousands of Radio Technicians 
with average pay among the country's best 
paid Industries. Repairing, servicing, 
selling home and auto Radio receivers 
(there are over 50,000,000 in use) gives 
gnod jobs to thousands. Many other Radio 
Technicians lake advantage of the oppor- 
tunities to have their own service or retail 


EXTRA PAY IN I 
ARMY. NAVY. TOO I 


Every man likely tn go Into military service, 
every soldier, sailor, marine should mail 
tie Coupon Now! Learning Radio helps 
men pet estra rank, eitra preside, mora 
ir.len-.Mna duty at pay up to £ "time* a 
private's base nay. 


Radio businesses. Think of the many good 
pay jobs in connection with Aviation. Com- 
mercial, Police Radio and Public Address 
Systems. N.R.I, gives yon the required 
knowledge of Radio for those jobs. N.R.I, 
trains you to be ready when Television opens 
new jobs. Yes, Radio Technicians make gond 
money hecause they use their heads as well 
as their hands. They must be trained. Many 
are getting special rattngs in the Army and 
Navy; extra rank and pay. 

Beginners Quickly Leant to Earn $5. $10 
a Week Extra in Spare Time 

Nearly every neighborhood offers ODPortu- 
nitles for a good part-time Radio Techni- 
cian to make extra money fixing Radio sets. 
I givt you special training to show you bow 
to start cashing In on these opportunities 
early. You get Radio parts and instructions 
for building teat equipment, for conducting 


experiments that zUe you valuable practical 
experience. You also get a modern Profes- 
sional Radio Servicing Instrument. My flfty- 
Jlfty method — half working with Radio parts, 
half studying toy lesson texts— makes learn- 
ing Radio at home interesting, fascinating, 
practical. 

Find Out How I Train You 
for Good Pay In Radio 

Mail the coupon below. I'll send my Gf~ 
page book FREE, It telle about my Course: 
the types of ions in the different branches of 
Radio; shows letters from more than 100 of 
the men I trained so you can see what they 
are doing, earning. MAIL THE COUPON In 
an envelope or paste on a penny poatall 
I. E. SMITH, President 
Dept. SUM. National Radio Institute 
Washington, D. C. 


m eDCC BOOK H»S SHOWN HUNDREDS b» *drB9' 

rf(CC now roMM/re good Mowr ,i.vH 


J. E. SMITH, President, Dept. 1NM 
National Radio Institute, Washlnatoi 


v ihrm>v<> 


5El 


JANUARY 
1942 


VOLUME 
NUMBER 


16 


^ STORIES 

TRADE MARK MQISTSRED 


STORIES 

THE TEST TUBE GIRL (Novel) by Frank Patton 8 

World War II was over — but if bequeatHed Death to humanity. There could be no more children. 

SOMERSET, THE SCIENTIFIC MONKEY (Short). . .by Donald Bern 44 

Sakanoff and Wilbury, the screwloose scientists, tangle again, and this time a monkey wins out! 

MYSTERY OF THE BLUE GOD (Novel).. by Harry Bates 54 

Mickey was very unhappy. He didn't fit in this civilization where everybody but him could telepath. 

PLANET OF DOOMED MEN (Novel).. ..by Robert Moore Williams 100 

Where a person lay dying, he became the potential victim of the oddest kidnap ring ever to operate. 

OUTLAW OF MARS (Novelet) by Festus Pragnell 142 

Don Hargreaves lay dead in his coffin. Then, at the funeral, he leaped out to murder a princess! 
LIFE FOR SALE (Novelet) by Alfred Bester 166 

Certainly you are a customer — when it's Life that's being offered! You can hardly refuse to buy! 

REHEARSAL FOR DANGER (Short) by P. F. Cosrello 190 

He was supposed lo be a coward, yet this boy sneered into the feelh of the System's worst pirate! 

Q SHIP OF SPACE (Short) by Duncan Farnsworth 206 

When warships roam space, a commander ought to look twice before boarding a distressed ship. 
MYSTERY ON BASE TEN (Short) by William P. McGivern 218 

Is it treason to desert on a mission to uncover a spy ring when your commander forbids? Sure, but . . . 

FEATURES 


The Observatory 6 

That Myth About Magic 204 

Hour Glass In The Desert 228 

Scientific Sleuthing 229 

Scientific Mysteries 230 


Amazing Oddities 233 

A City On Europa 234 

Meet The Authors 235 

Discussions 237 

Correspondence Corner 240 


Front cover painting by Malcolm Smith, illustrating a scene from "The Test Tube Girl" 
Back cover painting by Frank R. Paul, depicting the "Glass Cify On Ewropo" 
Illustrations by Virgil Finlay; Jay Jackson; Robert Fuqua^ Magarian; Rod Ruth; Joe Sewell 
Cartoons by R. Newman; Bob Glueckstein 

~ ' ' Copyright, 1941 , ZIFF-DAVIS PUBLISHING COMPANY 

Member of the Audit Bureau of Circulations 
William B. Z0I, Publisher, B. G. Davis. Edifot 
Raymond A. Palms* , Monaginc. Editor; Herman R, Bollin, Ail Director; H. G. Strona, Circulation Director 

We do rot accept responsibility tor the return of unsolicited manuscript* of artwork. To facilitate handling, the 
author should Inclose a sell-addressed envelope with the reauislte postage attached, and artists should enclose 
or forward return postage. Accepted material is subject to whatever revision is necessary to meet requirements. 
Payments lor manuscripts and Illustrations will be made at our current rates. 
The names of all characters that are used in short stories, serials and semi -fiction articles (hat deal 
wllh types ore Ficfious. Use of □ name which is the some as lhat of any living person is coincidental 


AMAZING 
STORIKri 
JANUARY 

1U42 


PuWisheil monihiv 19 ZI PJM>AVIS I'CBUSKlNG COMPANY at. 608 South Dearborn Street. Chi- 
cle lil. N-k Y"'k nffic- \h,,!>., ri A'.;.. Ni-'.v \ Ciri. VVn.-C.in^:.:ri Hijr-Mi. Ovldi'M.*! Metel. 
J.l. Col- Harold V.. Uarincy. M;map r. Em-iv.1 n» m:m-.i j;»i!H-r tktoiyr tj. lies. Ht < lie Tost 
(MOce. Chlciifrn, Uliriiu:; midtr this act Ot Mirch ;<r(!. .187;'. Sultcvij-iitir; fi'.l'' ;■■ ve»v tli twin's) : 

Ci<naLl:i f;: "'U; t L^lj. «:/. n. r« = !'.<:!i'.d sr. ;■ iwo u-:e:i- In riiiDBP fit address. All 

subscriptions should be addresses to U» Director or l'i rails i ion, 808 South 


AMAZING STORIES 


5 


is your Rupture 
getting Worse? 


It is a terrible thing to feel that your rupture is getting worse, 
growing larger and larger, without your seeming to be able 
to do anything about it! Haunting fear destroys mental poise 
and makes many despondent. Inability to be active takes the 
physical joys out of life. 

Yes, it is terrible . . . but far more a tragedy when it is all 
so absolutely needless! Now please — and again please— do not 
think that this is an attempt to capitalize on your misfortune 
in an effort to just sell you something. We simply have infor- 
mation for you that has brought deliverance and joy to about 
3,000,000 persons: men, women and children . . , facts that 
have satisfied thousands of doctors . . . facts we want you to 
consider, to your everlasting good! 

STOP IT, STOP IT! 

A S sure as you live and breathe, if you have a reducible 
rupture, you can stop your rupture worries and once 
again find the world, your work, your pleas- 
ures so full of joy and happiness that you 
will be an utterly new person . . . alive, 
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your existence a bad dream. 
There is no claptrap magic ahout the famous 
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Cushion? .Tust this, 
h ■ rt.. ,..[. ..i |:i-.i..i.s 
Appliance that holds hack your 
rupture — the most important 
part of 



X Where's YOUR Rupture? 


WRONG 

I Hard nod 
goiiKtnjr in 
keeps Rup- 


RIGHT 

! BROOKS 
Air- Cushion 
does not 
spread rup- 
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! Gives nature 


. truss. It is „. 

filled runner chamber 
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Now here is what happens. The 
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spreading the rupture opening 
and milking it larger, the way 
some trusses do. well, when the 
BROOKS permits the edges of 
the rupture opening to remain as 
close together as possible, Nature has the best 
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you we don't guarantee this. But if vou have 
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users have reported the abandonment of any truss. 

YOU CAH BE SURE OF NEW FREEDOM 

The very day you put on a BROOKS Patented 
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to the full joys of life! Men, women and children 
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because the wearer speedily comes :o realize that 
there can he no slipping to let the rupture dowu 
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because common sense says that everything 
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i No one is to call on we personally about my rupture, ! 


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HERE it is, reader?— another big issue with 
enough entertainment to kite you higher 
than the moon with sheer joy. And be- 
lieve us, we've had as* much tun as a barrel of 
monkeys preparing it for you! Let us know how 
you like it. 

WE won't say a thing about the stories in 
this issue, because we have a hunch you 
are going to say it for us. Especially Harry Bates, 
Frank Patton, Festus Pragnell (who, despite the 
war, writes better and better Don Hargreavea 
yarns), Robert Moore 
Williams, and Alfred Bes- 
ter. These lads have given 
us something really fine, 
we think. 

HARRY BATES, 
who has never ap- 
peared in our pages, is 
nevertheless one of the 
ace science fiction authors 
in the field today. He 
attained quite a bit of 
fame, also, as an inven- 
tor, and we understand 
he's still working at it. 
Hope he invents a gadget 
as good as the story in 
this big issue 1 

INCIDENTALLY, 
talking about fame, 
some of you old-lime 
readers may remember a 
guy named Hawk Carse. 
And an author named 
Anthony Gilmore. At one time, about eight or nine 
years ago, hundreds of fans engaged in a great 
hunt to discover his identity. They found out 
very little, except that author Anthony Gilmore 
wrote the Hawk Carse stories. We, ourselves, don't 
care. All we know is that Hawk Carse, authored 
by Anthony Gilmore, is coming bark to science 
fiction! Which is great news. We'll prove it to 
you in a few months! And how. Just don't 
miss the event for your own good! 


NEXT month we introduce still another new 
cover artist. He's L. Raymond Jones, and 
he's painted something pretty nice in illustrating 
a scene from a story by William P. McGivern 
called "Kidnaped Into The Future". It features 
what might be called the "Jones" girl, and we 
think you'll like the little lassie he's created. It's 
a rather striking color combination too, and we 
think it will meet with your entire approval. 


THEN, 
we'll I 



the March or April issues, 
tied "Mac Girl'' to Amaz- 
ing Stories. If you read 
our companion magazine, 
Fantastic Adventures, 
you've seen her many 
times already, but we 
predict, never as you'll 
see her on our front 
cover. It is a McCauley 
painting we arc proud to 
present. 


"Miss Warren, I don't wont to sea any more callers 
todayl" 


4 NE of our best 
writers, Robert 
Moore Williams, recently 
visited Xcw York, and 
while coming out of an 
office building, met a cer- 
tain fan. who. upon in- 
troduction said: "Oh, 
you're the fellow who 
turns the crank for 
Amazing Stories!" and 
accompanied it with ro- 
tating gestures. 

All your editor can say 
is Anybody who can dish 


out stories like he does, sure turns a mean crank! 

AUTHOR Isaac Asimov returns to his fic- 
tional birthplace with a sale to your editor 
based on a robot who gets lost. This wouldn't 
ordinarily be a strange idea, except for the fact 
that the robot was created for a special job, and 
by Heaven! he was going lo do it. Here's an- 
other chap who can ''turn the crank" upon oc- 
casion ! 


AMAZING STORIES 


7 



e Test Tube 


Frank Patton 


"Look at her! That's what she needs! A 
sun bath! She's like a flower in the sun'" 


4> 


pHf 


I 


SNowhere in the world any more 
children— except one baby in a test 
tube! Was mankind doomed to die? 


r 


OOK, Allan, my boy, how beauti- 
ful it is — " the man in the 
soiled laboratory smock waved 
a trembling hand toward the ghostly, 
moonlit city spread far below the tiny 
veranda high in the tower of Eugenic 
Laboratories " — and in a few more 
minutes we will know whether or not 
it will all vanish from the Earth, . . . 

"And in a few minutes, I, Henri Var- 
rone, the man those desperate millions 
down there believe to be the greatest of 
all biologists, will know whether they 
are right, or horribly wrong. . . ." 
"No! Wait— don't do it!" 
Allan Sutton's hoarse shout inter- 


rupted the biologist's sombre tones. 

Varrone whirled about, bewildered. 

"What. . . ." he began, then, as Sut- 
ton stared upward in horror, his gaze 
went up the facade of the building be- 
side the veranda to a window ledge. 

A white-clad figure was outlined in 
the moonlight, standing on the very 
edge of the stone sill. It was a woman, 
her face pale, tragic, drawn. 

"Myra!" called Sutton in a stricken 
whisper now that carried weirdly 
through the still night air. "Don't 
jump. . . ." 

Then, as though released from a mo- 
mentary paralysis, he began to edge 


10 


AMAZING STORIES 


forward, toward the veranda rail, and 
to a ledge immediately below the poised 
girl. 

Drawn by his voice, here eyes turned 
down, and for a moment looked straight 
into his. They stopped him in his tracks 
with what he saw mirrored in them. 

For a long instant she stared, then she 
moaned softly. 

"My baby," she said in stricken 
tones. "I suffered so long for her. . . . 
And she isn't even human — " 

Abruptly her gaze tore from the pair 
on the veranda, cast skyward a moment, 
then turned down to the dark street be- 
low. She jumped. 

Up from the depths, seventy stories 
down, drifted a thin, eerie scream that 
vanished into silent nothingness. 

"Henri. . . ." gasped Sutton. "Henri 
— she — she killed herself. ... I 
couldn't get to her to stop her. . . ." 

The old biologist's face was ashen. 

"Poor girl." His voice trembled. 
"She had such high hopes, such firm 
belief that her baby would be normal. 
. . . ." He turned and stared out over 
the city, toward the east. Suddenly his 
face flamed with anger and he raised a 
clenched fist and shook it at the horizon. 
"All because of one man! One human 
beast who wanted to rule the world ! " 

Quick footsteps sounded behind them 
now, and a third man burst out on the 
veranda. 

"What was that scream?" he asked 
in alarmed tones. "Something happen 
out here. . . .?" 

"Nothing that hasn't happened a 
thousand times already today, Har- 
land," said Varrone quietly now. "It 
was Myra ... she just jumped from 
her window. Her baby was born this 
afternoon — " 

Harland Lanier's handsome face 
paled. 

"You mean. . . ." 

"Yes. Her baby was a monster." 


"That leaves us only two more 

chances," said Lanier. 

"Yes, the test tube baby, and Alice." 

"Alice is dying ! " Lanier said harshly. 

The old biologist nodded. 

"I know. And in a few moments 
now we will know whether we can let 
her die in peace, or. . . ." 

Lanier glanced at his watch. 

"Come on," he said, his voice sud- 
denly hoarse. "It's time." 

HPHEY went inside the laboratory, 
passing from the pale moonlight on 
the balcony into the brilliance of arti- 
ficial daylight in the great room itself. 
The contrast made them blink a mo- 
ment, then when they had accustomed 
themselves to the change, Henri Var- 
rone stripped off his soiled laboratory 
gown, stepped to a sterilizer and began 
washing his hands meticulously. Allan 
Sutton and Harland Lanier did the 
same. 

Moments later they were ready, and 
with a serious look on his features, the 
master biologist advanced toward a 
large glass-and-metal machine mounted 
in the middle of the laboratory floor. 
It was surrounded by complex mecha- 
nisms that breathed and pulsed with a 
rhythm that was uncannily lifelike, 
somehow simulating the beat of a hu- 
man heart. There were dials and meters 
and controls; bubbling liquids in crystal 
globes and tubes, deliberately whirling 
fly-wheels and balances. 

And in the center of it all, the vat- 
like machine itself was a gleaming cylin- 
der of glass, filled with a viscous, trans- 
parent liquid in which floated a perfect 
human embryo, fully developed. As 
they stared at it, the tiny legs kicked 
vigorously. 

"Yes," nodded Varrone, "she's ready. 
She's alive, healthy, and free from any 
deformity that instruments can detect. 
Whether all her glands are normal, we 


THE TEST TUBE GIRL 


11 


can't know for several months yet." 

"If she lives when we take her out 
of there/' said Lanier soberly. 

Varrone shot a glance at Lanier's 
face, and he frowned. But he said 
nothing, although it was obvious that 
deep inside him Lanier's shot had hit 
home. They had failed before, in arti- 
ficial incubation. 

"Get the case-records on this em- 
bryo," he instructed heavily. "Read 
them back to me. We must make no 
mistakes." 

Lanier produced them from a lab 
table nearby. 

"I had them ready," he said. Then 
he opened the book and scanned its 
pages. He began reading in a level, 
precise voice. 

"Embryo 154. Removed from mother 
approximately five and one-half weeks; 
removal completed three minutes twen- 
ty-seven seconds after death due to loss 
of blood from slashed wrists. Foetus 
revived to life under sub-microelectric 
impulses at B-intensity.* 

"Embryo 154, placed in Wagner 
saline-solution, gradually acclimatized 
to incubation, and after two hours, 
placed in incubation, and nourished 
with dilute blood serum, 34.2 male 
blood, type 4, 65.8 pure glucose . . ." 


* Early in 1944, Professor Eamaus T. Whit- 
tacker, of the Dowling Institute of Military Tech- 
nology, experimenting with sub-electronic radia- 
tions in ekauranium, discovered an ultra-short 
microwave of much shorter length than the gam- 
ma rays he was examining. Unable to gain any 
positive reaction, beyond the recording on his 
meters, he worked in the dark for two months 
before he accidently exposed a freshly slain guinea 
pig to the rays and was startled to observe signs 
of life in a corpse he was absolutely certain had 
been stilled of all life processes. Thinking that 
he had created an artificial and false "life" by 
electrical muscular stinulus, he abandoned the 
field opened to him. 

Only a year later, Dr. Ira Waldron, of the New 
York Technological Society, stumbled onto the 
same reaction, and definitely isolated the rays 
and found them to be basically related to the 
mystery of life itself. He was able to revive dead 


Varrone interrupted the flow of La- 
nier's voice. 

"Skip the period until the final ten 
days." 

Lanier paged smoothly through the 
book, then paused again. His voice re- 
sumed. 

"First muscular reaction observed. 
Embryo exposed to X-ray examination, 
one-fifth second duration to assure 
complete lack of effect on reproductive 
glands, to determine structural condi- 
tion. Formation perfect, except for 
slight atrophy of left hand. 

"Response to all chemo-therapy ex- 
amination excellent. Coordination 
98.9%. No signs of cellular damage 
during period of death after death of 
mother. Artificial birth estimated Au- 
gust 11, approximately 11 PM." 

Here Lanier paused a brief moment, 
then resumed with a queer note in his 
voice. 

"Test shut-down of Lindbergh ac- 
tivator mechanism negative. No signs 
of \ individual response." 

He snapped the book shut. 

"That's it," he said. "No signs of 
response." 

Varrone's lips tightened. 

"Could mean anything, could mean 
nothing," he said. "Until the embryo 


animals almost at will, provided they had not 
been dead more than a period of seven minutes 
and twenty-one seconds, beyond which point cel- 
lular deterioration had progressed to such a state 
life was impossible. 

Toward the disastrous close of the war, Dr. 
Walton astounded the scientific world by taking 
his apparatus to the battlefield and reviving a 
soldier who had been killed by a bolt from an 
electrogun. 

Thus, the discovery of the "life ray" in the 
microelectric wavelengths made possible feats of 
surgery that would otherwise have been impos- 
sible, and was instrumental in saving countless 
lives that would have been lost because of failure 
of the normal life impulses. 

It was this ray that saved the life of Henri 
Varrone's embryo, when it was removed from a 
mother who had gone mad and who had com- 
mitted suicide by slashing her wrists.— Ed. 


AMAZING STORIES 


is removed from the solution, there 
could be no definite reaction." 

"However, if there had been, we'd 
have been sure there would be no still- 
birth," Sutton cut in. 

Varrone shrugged. 

"We'd have been sure of nothing," 
he said. "But I would have been much 
encouraged had there been a slight in- 
dividual reaction." 

J ANIER stepped forward and began 
efficiently preparing a silken net to 
scoop the embryo from the incubator 
vat. Then he removed the cover, 
mounted a ladder, swung the net into 
position, and dropped it slowly. 

It sank, enveloped the embryo, and 
Lanier skillfully drew it shut with 
looped cords. Then he turned to face 
Varrone and Sutton, who had leaped 
to the incubator controls. 

"Go ahead," he said evenly. "I'll 
sever the umbilical connections the in- 
stant the power is cut." 

Sutton spun dials, opened switches, 
and pressed levers. With each one an 
individual humming mechanism died. 
When he had finished, Varrone pulled 
the master switch out and with a reced- 
ing whine, the entire machine became 
silent. 

Lanier made several quick motions, 
then swung the net out of the thick liq- 
uid. Varrone, waiting to receive it, got 
a bath of the streaming stuff, but ig- 
nored it. Guiding the swinging net to 
a padded rubber table, he opened it, 
seized the limp figure within, and swung 
it aloft by the heels. He slapped the 
embryo on the buttocks smartly several 
times. But there was no response. 

"Microelectric therapy I " he snapped. 
"Quick!" 

Sutton wheeled the apparatus up 
swiftly, depressed its ray cone down 
upon the rubberoid table, and pressed 
a switch. A thin scream of energy 


keened swiftly up the scale into in- 
audibility. 

For a moment Varrone watched the 
little figure anxiously, then waved a 
hand. Sutton cut the rays off. Once 
more Varrone held the lifeless figure 
aloft, slapped it sharply. 

Lanier's face was white. He stepped 
forward. 

"Let me try," he said. 

He snatched the tiny form from Var- 
rone, and swinging it rhythmically by 
the heels, slapped it vigorously for more 
than a minute. He increased the tempo 
almost frantically. All at once a thin 
cry came, and Varrone, beside him, 
exclaimed exultantly.* 

"There! She's coming around! " 

Lanier cradled the baby in one big 
hand and stared down as it gasped sev- 
eral times, then began to cry in a reedy, 
weak voice. 

"It's alive!" he gasped. "Alive!" 

Varrone sank down into a lab chair, 
utter relief on his features. 

"Certainly," he chuckled. "When 
a baby cries, it's alive." 

But as he spoke, the thin, piping 
voice ceased, and the child lay still in 
Lanier's big palm. 

Abruptly Lanier resumed the rhyth- 
mic swinging and spanking. Varrone 
rose slowly to his feet, his face slowly 
going grey. He watched for a moment, 
then he stepped forward and placed a 
hand on Lanier's arm. 

"Stop," he croaked. "It's no use. 
The child is dead." 

Lanier and Sutton stared at him 
dazedly. 

"Dead," repeated Varrone, like a 
man who's soul had shriveled. "It's the 


^Sometimes the task of making a baby take its 
first breath is a rather difficult one, and the 
youngster is treated to quite a vigorous thrashing 
to make it respond, cry, and draw the necessary 
breath to start its lungs to pumping. The rhythmic 
swinging is also a means of startling the nervous 
system into reaction. — Ed. 


THE TEST TUBE GIRL 


13 


end. She's stillborn, and Hitler's rays 
have slain the human race."* 

CHAPTER II 

A Fight in the Park 

TT WAS cool and quiet in Central 
Park, where Allan Sutton had gone 
to quiet the turmoil in his mind. All 

*Here we have the cause of the great crisis that 
faced humanity at the abrupt close of the Second 
World War. Early in 1943, Hitler, faced with an 
impasse, his armies held at bay by the Russian 
Bear, and by a Britain made powerful through 
American aid, introduced a weapon his scientists 
had deemed too terrible to use. It was a great ray- 
cannon which was an outgrowth of the electro- 
guns which generated an electrical beam thin as 
a hair, but deadly as a lightning bolt. This super- 
ray actually destroyed the atom, causing tremen- 
dous explosions, but in actual use, Hitler found 
it to be more dangerous to the army using it, and 
not as effective as Britain's super-bombs. After 
two months of use, he reverted back to heavy 
artillery and dive-bombers. 

It was not until the closing days of the war, 
when Hitler had been forced to sue for peace 
after Europe became a hive of uncontrollable re- 
volt, that it was discovered that the super-ray 
cannons had had an effect unsuspected by the 
scientists. Radio engineers had puzzled over 
strange interference in transmission during the 
two-month period when the rays had been 
used, but did not attribute the disturbance to the 
new cannon?. However, no corner of the Earth 
remained untouched by the incredibly short waves 
generated by bursting atoms, and although no 
outward effect was visible, the fate of humanity 
was sealed by a very simple biological factor. All 
over the world, women were either rendered 
sterile, barren because of the destructive effect of 
the short waves, or those who could bear offspring 
found themselves the parents of evolutionary 
monstrosities that were too horrible to let live. 

Faced with the fact that mankind was doomed, 
scientists sought feverishly for a cure, and failed. 
Nowhere in the world was a normal baby born. 
Countless thousands committed suicide, and count- 
less thousands went mad, deranged by the ab- 
normal physiological and psychological reactions 
of their glandular functions. 

The last hope lay in Greater New York, where 
Henri Varrone, greatest living biologist, experi- 
mented with the few remaining, nearly normal 
women to whom pregnancy was possible. Harland 
Lanier, two years Allan Sutton's senior, was his 
chief aide, and Sutton himself, who perfected the 
incubator mechanism, and who was really the 
genius of the trio, became the third assistant.— Ed. 


about, New York lay dark and seem- 
ingly deserted. Even persons on the 
brink of madness get tired; and des- 
pairing New York was asleep. 

There were none of the brilliant 
lights that once made New York a city 
of day through all the twenty-four 
hours. There was none of the hustle 
and bustle of traffic; none of the music 
and gay voices that heralded the pleas- 
ure-bent people of the night; none of 
the strolling couples to whom Central 
Park had always been a paradise where 
they could be aloof and alone, millions 
of miles from other people. It was this 
last that struck home most violently to 
Sutton as he sat on a dusty park bench. 

Love had gone out of the world. The 
sacred institution of the family, the 
basis of civilization, was gone. In its 
place reigned despair, hate, madness, 
suicide, and rampant crime. 

The world was dying, slain by an in- 
visible, silent ray of sterility that had 
smitten womankind, destroyed her mi- 
raculous power to reproduce her race, 
to perpetuate it. In fifty or sixty more 
years, the last man would die of old 
age. The Age of Man on Earth would 
have passed forever. 

All the other species of life Nature 
had created, she had destroyed, either 
because they were impracticable, or 
they lacked virility. Man had de- 
stroyed himself, by fighting a grim war 
of science. Hitler had invented a 
weapon that had been more deadly than 
he knew. An atom-smashing weapon 
that had generated a deadly ray; a 
subtle ray that had fatally altered the 
function of that mysterious gland in 
women, in all women, that was man's 
perpetuation. And the grim truth was 
that man was unworthy— had antici- 
pated Nature's vengeance by eliminat- 
ing himself. 

And as Allan Sutton sat there, a great 
shame flooded through his soul. He 


14 


AMAZING STORIES 


felt mankind's failure as a personal 
failure. 

"We're no good," he muttered bit- 
terly. "No better than the dinosaurs; 
than the mammoth; than the dodo. We 
deserve extinction." 

And yet, his mind fought for a solu- 
tion to the problem. Why was it that 
woman's virility had been lost? If one 
ray had destroyed a vital something, 
an important hormone, could not an- 
other ray restore it? 

Restore? What was left to restore? 

In all New York remained but one 
woman with child. A waif of the streets, 
whom he knew only as Alice. And Alice 
could not live long enough to bear her 
child. The white plague of civilization 
held her inexorably. 

"Poor child," he muttered. "And 
now we must take her child from her, 
and try for the last time . . ." 

He rose to his feet, fists clenched in 
impotence. 

"And we'll fail again!" he exclaimed. 
"The incubator is perfect. It can com- 
plete human birth without the mother. 
But it can't restore what Hitler has 
destroyed ! That's why we'll fail again. 
Henri knows it. But he'll fight on, be- 
cause he's that kind of a man." 

"Let's see what kind of a man you 
are!" came a harsh voice behind him. 
"Let's see you fight! " 

gUTTON whirled around to face a 
bearded, ragged giant of a man, in 
whose eyes glinted the lights of mad- 
ness and bestiality. And as Sutton 
faced him, he leaped. 

A heavy fist crashed against Sutton's 
chest, sending him hurtling with stun- 
ning force into a clump of bushes. 
Thorns tore at him, and red blood min- 
gled with the green smear of crushed 
leaves on his white shirt. 

Then the attacker lunged down on 
him, ignoring the brambles in which 


he lay. As the breath crushed out of 
his lungs, Allan Sutton knew that he 
faced a killer. He knew that before 
him was a battle for life itself. And 
with that animal instinct called self- 
preservation, he drew up his legs and 
kicked outward with all his strength. 

The big man's body crashed back- 
ward, against a tree, and Sutton scram- 
bled to his feet. They faced each 
other. The madman laughed. He 
seemed unhurt, or if he was, his mad 
mind took no cognizance of it. 

"Fight!" he roared. "A good fight. 
There will be much blood!" 

And again he rushed. 

Sutton side-stepped, swung a fist 
straight for the jutting jaw. It landed, 
and pain shot through his arm to the 
shoulder. The giant was unshaken, and 
whirling with incredible speed for his 
size, flung his arms about Sutton in a 
bear-hug. 

Instantly Sutton felt his ribs crack- 
ing. He gasped for breath. Frantically 
he squirmed and fought and pounded 
with his fists against that grinning, bes- 
tial face, but the arms only constricted 
more. Whirling blackness swirled be- 
fore his eyes. 

Then the killer loosed his hold, 
snatched his shoulders in steel fingers; 
his teeth sought Sutton's throat. 

A wave of horror swept over Sutton. 
He lunged backward, pulling the giant 
with him. They crashed to earth, and 
the giant's hold on his shoulders 
slipped. Once more they faced each 
other. 

But all at once a blank look came 
over the madman's face, and at the 
same instant a sharp pistol shot 
whipped through the night air. The 
giant sagged slowly, then pitched to 
the earth, dead. 

CUTTON turned dazedly to face Har- 
land Lanier, who stood with a slight 


THE TEST TUBE GIRL 


15 


smile that held no humor in it on his 
face, and in his hand a smoking re- 
volver. 

"I felt that it might be dangerous out 
here in the park," he said quietly, "so 
I came too, and brought my gun. You 
know, New York isn't a place of civili- 
zation any more . . ." 

Sutton drew in a gasping breath. 

"Did you have to kill him — that 
way?" he said. 

Lanier looked at him queerly. 

"He was trying to kill you, and judg- 
ing from the way you look, he would 
have succeeded very well. Are you try- 
ing to say you'd have killed him . . . ?" 

Sutton shook his head. 

"I don't know," he began. "But . . ." 

Lanier laughed harshly. 

"Forget I said anything. We're all 
a little unbalanced, I guess. And right 
now, that mixture of red and green 
blood on your shirt strikes me as just 
a little bit funny. My biological knowl- 
edge is so befuddled these days that 
I'd believe you actually had green 
blood — that anybody might have. Or 
orange, or violet, or indigo, or liquid 
gold — Say, what's the matter with 
you anyway, Allan? Why are you star- 
ing at me? I'm not crazy, just kid- 
ding . . ." 

"I'm not thinking that," said Sutton 
slowly. "It's just that mention of red 
and green blood on my shirt. Red and 
green blood! Great Gods! Come on, 
Harland, we've got to get back to the 
lab, and Varrone. I've got an idea!" 

"What sort of an idea?" 

"Chlorophyll — and an autopsy. I've 
got to perform an autopsy!" 

"An autopsy! On who . . .?" 

But Allan Sutton was already run- 
ning, headed back toward the towering 
bulk of Eugenic Laboratories, black 
before the setting moon on the edge of 
Central Park. 

Lanier pocketed his gun, glanced 


once at the man he had killed, grunted, 
and followed. 

CHAPTER III 

Life from the Sunl 

A LLAN SUTTON held the slide up 
to the light, peered at it intently 
for a long moment, then put it back 
into the microscope. Varrone and La- 
nier stood silently, puzzled and curious, 
at his side, waiting. 

Sutton turned, motioned to Varrone 
to look at the slide. Varrone peered 
for a long moment. 

"Very peculiar," he muttered. "Odd- 
est sub-corpuscular formation I've ever 
seen. Just as if the molecules were 
broken^shattered, by something . . ." 

"By a vibration," said Sutton quietly. 
"That's why our test tube baby didn't 
live. My autopsy proves it." 

Lanier looked at him. 

"You mean . . ." 

"Hitler's ray! There's the answer, 
the reason for the sterility of women. 
Hitler's ray has shattered the cohesive 
structure of the chromosomes, and the 
hormones of life. The mysterious 
energy of life comes from the sun. 
That's where life was born, in the 
primeval seas, in the muddy ooze heated 
by sunlight.* 

"It is this same energy that gives life 
to plants, most familiarly known to us 
as chlorophyll. This green substance 
contains the missing energy that has 
been short-circuited from the structure 
of life in women . . ." 

* Scientists have long held that the first cosmic 
"accident" that caused life to spring into being 
here on Earth was the creation of a living, unicel- 
lular life-form in the sea, under the impulse of a 
peculiar vibration from the sun caused by the 
release of terrific energy — sufficient to destroy or 
create new carbon patterns. All life is composed 
of carbon-patterns, and the first pattern to take 
on sentience was most probably activated by 
sun-energy. — Ed. 


16 


AMAZING STORIES 


Varrone gripped Sutton's arm ex- 
citedly. 

"My boy, I think you're right. 
You've found it! Sun-energy is the 
answer. If we can re-create those orig- 
inal life-giving vibrations, we can 
'shake' the chromosomes back into 
their original life-form. And human 
beings will again be born who will live 
and re-create, and evolve normally . . ." 

Lanier interrupted. 

"Very easy," he said wearily. "Just 
took Nature billions of years to acci- 
dently hit on exactly the right vibra- 
tion to create carbon life-forms. Bil- 
lions of chances not to hit on it. We 
haven't time for more than one trial, 
nor more than one opportunity to try 
it— Alice's baby!" 

Varrone's face became sober, hope- 
less. 

"You're right, Harland," he said. 
"But we'll have to take that one chance 
in billions. We'll go ahead . . ." 

"We don't have to chance creating a 
carbon-life pattern," said Sutton calm- 
ly. "We've already got one." 

Varrone stared, and Lanier's jaw 
dropped. 

"Where?" asked Lanier bluntly. 

"On my shirt," said Sutton. 

"On your shirt?" 

"Yes. Chlorophyll. Plant-carbon 
patterns. And since all carbon com- 
pounds are basically alike, they can be 
mixed. That's what we're going to do. 
We're going to rehabilitate Alice's 
baby's blood with liquid plant chloro- 
phyll!" 

"Son," said Varrone excitedly, "if 
you're right, you've saved the human 
race!" 

Lanier took out a cigarette, lit it 
calmly, and puffed smoke into the air 
while the other two watched him. Then 
he grinned coldly. 

"If," he said pointedly, "Alice's baby 
is a girl." 


JT WAS a week before the three biol- 
ogists, weary and emotionally over- 
wrought, succeeded in combining hu- 
man blood and pure chlorophyll into a 
coagulation-free serum suitable for use 
in the incubator. Now, at last, all was 
in readiness. The incubator once more 
hummed with life, the Lindbergh mech- 
anism beat out its human-heart rhythm, 
and tubes glowed with fairy-like colors 
as all the radiations necessary to the 
normal growth of an embryo were fo- 
cused in the proper intensity. The 
result was artificial sunlight minus its 
destructive, burning quality. 

"I don't think I have the strength nor 
the steadiness left to perform the opera- 
tion," said Varrone. "I'm too tired, 
and my hand might slip. Lanier, I 
think you are best fitted to perform it." 

Lanier nodded. "I can do it," he said 
briefly. "I can keep going for days 
yet, if necessary." 

"I'm with you," said Sutton. "Let's 
get it over with. I've just talked to 
Alice, and she's ready." 

"You told her she might not live 
through it?" asked Varrone. 

"Yes. And she said she didn't care. 
If the baby lived, she'd be glad to die." 

"Brave girl," said Varrone softly. 
"She was a war baby. New York never 
gave her a break. Seems rather ironic 
that she may be the one instrumental 
in saving that same city from the ob- 
livion to which it cast her." 

Lanier and Sutton prepared them- 
selves for the operation, while Varrone 
went to get Alice. When he finally ap- 
peared, pushing the wan, pale, ex- 
tremely youthful girl in a wheelchair, 
they were ready. Completely cloaked 
in sterilized garments, even to antisep- 
tic helmets and goggles, they presented 
a rather startling appearance in the 
white, artificial-sunlight glare of the 
laboratory. 

"Oh!" Alice uttered a little, fright- 


THE TEST TUBE GIRL 


17 


ened scream, then bit her thin lip 
bravely. 

"I didn't know you, Doctor Sutton," 
she finished. "You scared me — a lit- 
tle." She smiled tremulously. 

"Don't be afraid," said Sutton. 
"You'll be all right." 

There was a momentary awkward 
silence, while the three men fumbled 
for something else to say, and failed. 
It remained for the waif of the streets, 
hardly seventeen, to disperse the un- 
comfortableness that lay between them. 

"I'm not afraid," she said. "I'm 
glad! And somehow I know that my 
baby won't die. You said she wouldn't, 
Doctor Sutton, and I know you 
wouldn't lie to me. Doctor Varrone 
has told me that it is your discovery 
that will make her lovely, and strong, 
and healthy, just like all women used 
to be. You must be a very smart man, 
Doctor Sutton." 

She smiled at them brightly. 

"You are all such great men. It will 
be wonderful for my little girl to have 
you all for fathers. That's funny, isn't 
it? But I think it's nice. She'll be the 
luckiest girl that ever lived. And some- 
day when she gets married . . ." 

Abruptly she paused, and her eyes 
roved excitedly from one to the other 
of them. 

"Oh!" she breathed. "One of you 
can't be a father to her; one of you'll 
have to marry her, and have lots of 
children . . ." 

She studied Lanier for a moment, 
then, hesitantly, her eyes roved to Sut- 
ton. She peered up at him, head 
cocked, trying to see his eyes behind 
the goggles. 

"I think you should marry her," she 
said simply. "You are the youngest, 
and I like you best, because you're like 
me, somehow. Not uppity, like a lot 
of people I've known . . . oh," she 
hastened to add, looking archly at La- 


nier, "I don't mean you're uppity, Doc- 
tor Lanier. It's just that you mightn't 
. . ." she hesitated, became confused. 

"Yes, child," said Lanier softly. "I 
understand what you mean. You want 
your daughter to have the youngest 
man, and have the most children, so she 
will be a real Eve to the human race." 

"Oh," she gasped. "You understand 
me too! Now I don't know . . ." 

Varrone stepped forward. 

"Come, child," he said. "Let's get 
ready." 

For an instant her face went even 
whiter, then she looked up at Lanier. 

"I'm ready," she said. "I'm not 
afraid at all. I know you won't hurt 
me now. You're kind and gentle, and 
you're not so old. Maybe my little 
girl will like you better. If she does, 
she can pick you." 

She rose to her feet and walked fal- 
teringly toward the operating table. 
There was a beatific smile on her thin 
face. And a moment later, as Lanier 
picked up the scalpel, a choking sound 
came from behind his antiseptic mask. 

T^HERE were tears in Henri Var- 

rone's eyes as he pulled the sheet 
over the calm, still smiling face of the 
little seventeen-year-old waif of the 
streets. 

"Not even the name of Jeanne d'Arc 
can outshine that of Alice of Man- 
hattan," he whispered. "She was a real 
heroine. . . ." 

Harland Lanier turned from where 
he stared bleakly out of the high window 
of the laboratory at the city below, re- 
vealed now in the bleakness of day. He 
looked at Varrone. 

"I didn't hurt her," he said simply. 
"She never lost her smile." 

"No, son," said Varrone. "You 
didn't hurt her." 

Both men turned now to where Allan 
Sutton still labored desperately at the 


18 


AMAZING STORIES 


incubator. As they watched, he stepped 
back with an exclamation. 

"It's done! " he said. "The job's com- 
pleted. Not even a filterable virus* 
could get into that incubator; and that 
Lindbergh mechanism would run for 
twenty years without attention, if it 
were necessary." 

Under the soft orange light of the 
artificial sun-rays filling the interior of 
the incubator with a warm, bright glow, 
the newly transplanted embryo hung 
suspended in the green-cast liquid. It 
was a tiny thing, hard to discern through 
the thickness of glass and the colored 
serum itself. It was a small green blob 
of color, shapeless, indefinite. 

Varrone stepped closer, peered at it. 

"You've done a good job, Sutton." 

"We've all done a good job," said 
Lanier. "I only wonder if it will all be 
in vain. If that embryo turns out to be 
a male — " 

"We won't know for another month, 
or more," said Varrone. 

"Maybe sooner than you expect," 
Sutton cut in. "I have a strong hunch 
that the growth of the embryo will be 
slightly faster than in a normal human 
being, because of an accelerating effect 
of the chlorophyll serum. It has a 
metabolic rate, normally, much higher 
than blood cells. This chloro-blood 
mixture might still possess something 
of plant metabolism." 

As he finished speaking, there was 
silence for a moment. Then, beneath 
their feet, the building trembled slightly 
for an instant. 

"What was that?" asked Varrone 
sharply. 


* Filterable virus : medical science discovered 
early in the 1930's that some diseases were caused, 
not by a germ, but by a virus that was so 
penetrable in its power to pass through insulating 
materials, that no screen known to science could 
filter it out, or prevent its passing through a 
membrane. Thus it could not be isolated for 
study.— Ed. 


Lanier looked puzzled. 

"It couldn't have been an earthquake 
tremor. Yet, it felt oddly like one. I 
was in Shanghai once. . . ." 

The windows of the laboratory 
thudded in their frames and shook as 
though a mighty blast of air had struck 
the building. Then, hard on the heels 
of the phenomenon, a growling, blasting 
roar came out of the distance. 

"That was no earthquake!" ex- 
claimed Sutton. "Something blew up 
— and from the sound of it, something 
really tremendous." 

He sprang to the window and looked 
out. 

"I don't see anything — " he began. 

"Over here," came Lanier's quiet 
voice. "Out toward Brooklyn. Near 
the navy yard." 

In an instant the three biologists 
stood before the laboratory window 
staring out over the city. Some ten or 
more miles away, a tremendous mush- 
room of black, oily smoke towered into 
the heavens, looming up ever higher as 
the force of the explosion that impelled 
it continued to drive it aloft. 

"Great God," said Varrone, "that 
must have been something vital!" 

They watched for long moments, 
while the tower of smoke spread out, 
then, strangely, began to descend, 
spreading slowly outward as it did so. 

"Heavier than air!" Lanier burst out, 
incredulously. "That isn't ordinary 
smoke." 

Varrone frowned. 

"I never saw anything like that be- 
fore," he muttered. "I'm not a physi- 
cist, but I know enough about chemistry 
to say that that smoke cloud is some- 
thing ugly. And if I'm not wrong, it's 
going to be dangerous to those people 
over there." 

"We'll know about it soon enough," 
Sutton said. "But I, for one, am willing 
to hear about it after I wake up. I'm 


THE TEST TUBE GIRL 


19 


dead tired, and I'm going to get that 
sleep we've put off for too long already." 

"A good idea," Varrone said ab- 
stractly, his gaze still fixed lingeringly 
on the mysterious cloud pall on the 
horizon. "I second the motion. We've 
got some tests to make on that embryo 
in another twenty-four hours." 

CHAPTER IV 
An Unexpected Danger 

"z" 1 ET back I" the hoarse voice blasted 
through the murk of growing night. 
"That stuff's certain death!" 

"Don't look like it to me," came an- 
other voice contemptuously. "Just a 
munition dump somebody forgot about. 
Got rotten with age, and blew, that's 
all . . ." 

A big man loomed out of the mist, 
fists balled. 

"I said get the hell outa here!" he 
snarled. "And I mean it. I'm gonna 
clear everybody outa here, and every- 
body means you too." 

"Oh, yeah. Who the hell are you?" 

"I'm the boss of this section," the big 
man's voice was ugly. "The name's 
Matt Welch. Ever hear of it . . . ?" 
He paused significantly. 

His challenger paused, looked at him 
a long instant. 

"Sure," he drawled. "I heard of you. 
You're the big monkey who thinks he's 
going to set up a little dictatorship of his 
own here, and I think you're the guy 
who had something to do with that 
blow-up over there yesterday. Just to 
create a diversion so you can put in 
some strong-arm stuff and take over. 
Well, Mr. Matt Welch, I think I'm 
going to have a little to say, too, about 
who runs this show. Things has 
changed, but not for you, Welch . . ." 

Matt Welch charged. Abruptly, 
forcibly, irresistibly. A Greek god 


would have envied the physique he 
hurled at his challenger. And as his 
great fist rocked the challenger to his 
heels, it was obvious to the men who ap- 
peared suddenly out of the mist, drawn 
by the fracas, that the newcomer had 
underestimated the man he had chal- 

And that underestimation was his 
death warrant. 

He went down, stunned, and rolled 
desperately to escape the plunging body 
of Matt Welch. He regained his feet, 
recovered, and his hand leaped for his 
belt. He drew a gun. 

Several of the advancing men hurled 
themselves forward, but too late. 

Matt Welch had gripped the fellow's 
gun arm in one powerful hand, and now 
he bent it back. 

"Stay back, fellows," he roared. "I 
can handle this mug myself! " 

And he proceeded to "handle" the 
man in a rather horrible manner. There 
was a sharp crack, as a forearm bone 
broke; a shrill scream of male agony 
that was terrible to hear as Matt Welch 
then bent the body of his adversary over 
his big knee, slowly, delicately, yet with 
brutal force. There was a noise like a 
pistol shot, and the grim fight was over. 

"Migawd," gasped one of the men 
who had halted in their forward rush 
to aid their chief, "broke 'im in half, 
like a rotten two-by-four I " 

"And that's what'll happen to any 
other monkey who says I ain't boss of 
New York!" snapped Welch. "And 
now, get outa here, over onto the Island. 
When that black cloud gets here, it ain't 
gonna be healthy, hereabouts!" 

TT was while they were walking briskly 
over Williamsburg Bridge that one 

of the men fell in beside Matt Welch. 
"What's that stuff behind us, boss? 

That stuff that blew up and is spreading 

over the ground like black molasses 


20 


AMAZING STORIES 


gas?" 

"A new gas they never got around to 
using in the war/' said Welch. "I 
warned 'em they'd better move it, be- 
cause it'd get old and touchy and finally 
blow off like it did. But they were 
smarter'n me. They were chemists — I 
was only a top-sarge in the army. So it 
blew up." 

"What'll it do to anybody caught by 
it?" 

Matt Welch laughed grimly. 

"Nothing much ! It's just about the 
most deadly and horrible gas there ever 
was. It's some kind of coal-tar product, 
and it's in the benzol family. Doesn't 
do anything to the body, except maybe 
bleach out the skin a little, but one 
whiff of it, and bingo, you don't remem- 
ber nothing anymore! Kills in a frac- 
tion of a second. You don't even have 
to breathe it. It goes right through the 
skin. And no gas mask can guard 
against something like that, even if 
there was a gas mask it wouldn't go 
through ! " 

"Whew! That's black dynamite, all 
right," breathed the man. "I'm staying 
as far away from it as possible." He 
turned and eyed the Brooklyn shore. 
"Think it'll cross the water?" he asked. 

Welch shrugged. 

"I don't know. I think it will. But it 
shouldn't get further than the Hudson's 
Jersey side. The Palisades will hold it 
back. And after awhile it'll be absorbed 
by the ground and lose its kick. Turn 
back to common coal tar." 

They jogged on a while longer in si- 
lence, till they reached the Manhattan 
shore. Then the man who had spoken 
before asked another question. 
- "Where we going, boss?" 

"I got plans," said Welch briefly. 
"There're a coupla guys over at 
Eugenics Laboratories I wanta see. 
They got something I want, maybe, if 
what I hear is right." 


"You mean about them babies they're 
experimenting with?" 

"No," said Welch. "I don't mean ba- 
bies. It's got nothing to do with babies 
— yet. An' now, shut up. I got think- 
ing to do. About fifty years of think- 
ing " 

"A M0NTH ' S g rowtn in twenty-four 
hours!" Henri Varrone's voice 
held an incredulous note. "It doesn't 
sound possible, but it's happened. I 
don't know what it means. Something 
has gone wrong. . . ." 

Harland Lanier's shout interrupted 
him. 

"Henri — Allan — come quick! It's a 
girl!" 

Varrone whirled from where he faced 
Sutton near a lab bench. 

"What!" he gasped. "A girl you 
say ! " 

"Yes, look! And I'd say a perfectly 
normal development so far, even if it 
has been tremendously speeded up." 

Allan Sutton nodded. 

"Yes, Henri, I'm sure Harland is 
right. We needn't fear any great dan- 
ger from this tremendously accelerated 
growth. It must inevitably slow down, 
and after she is born, and takes up a 
normal existence outside the incubator, 
development should resume a normal, or 
near-normal rate." 

Varrone shook his head doubtfully, 
but there was hope in his eyes. 

"You may be right, my boy, but while 
this process is going on, that embryo 
will grow like a plant. Apparently, thus 
far, the only plant characteristic is the 
rapid growth. The rest of the develop- 
ment is entirely normal, as we can all 
see." 

"Fleur d'esperance," murmured La- 
nier softly. "Flower of hope!" 

The door to the laboratory opened, 
and the three absorbed scientists failed 
to hear it, so intent were they in their 


THE TEST TUBE GIRL 


21 


study of the embryo in the incubator. 

Matt Welch came over behind them 
and stood silently for a long moment, 
his keen eyes taking in every detail of 
the huge laboratory, the incubator, and 
studying each one of the biologists 
closely. Finally he nodded in approval. 

"I guess you guys know your busi- 
ness," he said. "Like I do mine." 

The three whirled to face the in- 
truder. 

"What are you doing here, man?" 
asked Varrone sharply. "Don't you 
know this is an experimental laboratory, 
and very important experiments are 
being carried on. . . ." 

"I know," said Welch. "Damned im- 
portant. And I'm glad to see your de- 
partment is being handled so effi- 
ciently." 

"What do you mean 'your depart- 
ment'?" asked Lanier, frowning. 

Welch shrugged, threw up his hands 
deprecatingly. 

"I'm in charge of keeping order in 
the city," he said in an explanatory, easy 
tone. "There're only about fifty thou- 
sand people left in the burg now, and 
law and order has sort of gone to pieces. 
So that's where I come in. I've got 
things pretty well under control now. 
No more looting, destruction, disorgan- 
ization. . . ." 

"That's fine," Lanier said coldly. 
"Then maybe you'll see to it that we 
aren't molested here. Our work is of 
prime importance to the whole human 
race, not only to New York City." 

"I know," said Welch. "But I'm 
afraid I gotta give you a few instruc- 
tions first, before we all get outa 
here. . . ." 

"Get out of here?" Varrone's ques- 
tion was almost an exclamation "What 
do you mean?" 

"Take it easy, Doc," said Welch. "I 
ain't meaning nothing that hasn't got 
sense to it. All I wanta make sure is 


that that green baby you got in there is 
safe? She's mighty important to my 
future — to the future of all of us." 

J ^ANIER stepped forward. 

"Just what are you driving at, 
Mr. . . ." 

"Welch is the name," said their visi- 
tor. "Matt Welch. And here's the 
pitch. Say, for instance, you gotta leave 
here, for a month, two months, maybe 
five or six. Does this thing have to be 
tended?" 

"That's none of your business," La- 
nier said quietly. 
Welch frowned. 

"It is my business," he said, a bit 
more sharply. "And I got my authority 
right with me. Come on in, boys." He 
waved a hand toward the door behind 
him. Several men, armed with busi- 
ness-like rifles and sub-machine guns, 
filed into the room and stood silently 
behind their leader. 

"Now," Welch went on, "I'll explain 
why it's my business. I wanta know 
what I asked you, because if this thing 
isn't safe here, and won't run itself, we 
gotta move it to a place where it will be 
safe, and where you fellows can take 
care of it." 

"Why?" asked Lanier, lips tight. 

Welch grinned. 

"Because yesterday — you musta 
heard it — a big government gas store 
house, left over from the war, exploded, 
and there's a cloud of the deadliest gas 
ever invented spreading slowly toward 
this building. In another day, it'll be 
here, and it'll be anywhere from a month 
to six months before any living thing 
can set foot in this area again. That's 
why. Is that reason good enough for 
you?" 

Lanier's jaw went slack. 

"My God! " he gasped. 

Sutton came forward. 

"You mean there's no way of guard- 


22 


AMAZING STORIES 


ing against this gas?'' 

"I mean just that. No gas masks will 
do any good. It can't be dispersed, and 
it'll take a long while before it even- 
tually neutralizes itself and turns back 
into the coal tar it came from. Then 
it'll be just like a black gum on the 
ground, and perfectly harmless." 

"How do you know all this?" asked 
Lanier suspiciously. "Are you a chem- 
ist?" 

"No. Just a top-sarge in the army— 
or I was before the peace was settled. 
But my old man was a chemist. He in- 
vented the gas. He told me it would 
become unstable with age, and I tried to 
tell the wise-guys who were keeping it 
stored, but they knew better. They're 
dead now, along with about ten thou- 
sand other people over in Brooklyn." 

Varrone turned to Lanier. 

"But we can't move the incubator," 
he protested. "It's impossible." 

"We don't have to," Sutton said. "I'll 
run itself, and the gas can't touch the 
embryo. And if the gas will disperse, 
as Welch says it will, and become harm- 
less, his time limit gives us plenty of 
leeway. Two months at the least. . . ■." 

"You mean it can be left in perfect 
safety?" asked Welch. 

"I don't know," said Varrone help- 
lessly. "At the present rate of acceler- 
ated growth. . . ." 

"We've got to take a chance," said 
Lanier. "Even considering the rapid 
growth rate, which must slow down as 
the embryo becomes more complex, we 
couldn't do anything but let events take 
their course. The die was cast when we 
sealed the incubator. We'll come back 
the instant it is possible, and if anything 
has happened — well," Lanier shrugged, 
"we can charge it up to Fate, who seems 
to be dealing the cards right now." 

"Say," Welch broke in. ''You're a 
right guy, for a scientist. I think maybe 
I can use you in my setup, after this is 


all settled." 

Lanier turned and stared at the big 
man. 

"Maybe you can at that," he said 
levelly. "If you mean what you say 
about 'settling' things." 

Welch grinned. 

"I mean it all right," he said signifi- 
cantly. "And now, I think you fellows 
better see that everything is shipshape 
around here, lock everything up tight, 
and we'll be going. I think maybe 
Pittsburgh is gonna be our head- 
quarters for a couple of months. I've 
got some of the boys straightening 
things out over there. . . ." 

CHAPTER V 
The Flower of Hope 

TV/TATT WELCH lowered the binocu- 
lars to his belt, returned them to 
the leather case. 

"Pigeons," he said briefly. "They're 
walking on the ground. We can go 
back." 

He turned and looked sharply over 
the men who stood at attention in a 
stiff line behind him. 

"Captain Iverly," he barked. "Take 
command until I get back. And shoot 
any man who tries to cross the Hudson 
from the Jersey side. That island is 
strictly taboo." 

"Right, sir," said Iverly, saluting 
smartly. "I'll shoot 'em, sir." 

As Welch and the three biologists 
stepped into the boat, he grinned at 
them. 

"Nice job of discipline, if I say so 
myself," he remarked. "Now if things 
have gone right over there, maybe we 
can save something out of this mess 
Hitler made for us." 

Lanier stared at him steadily. In 
his eyes there was a strange flicker, as 
though he masked an inner opinion of 
Matt Welch. 


THE TEST TUBE GIRL 


23 


"I've never seen a better job of han- 
dling men, or an ugly situation," he 
said. "In five months you've cleaned up 
the whole country west of Ohio and 
from New York to Atlanta. Especially 
that revolution in Pittsburgh. Even if 
you do say it yourself, I'll give you my 
honest respect for a good job." . 

Welch peered at him, a peculiar, 
calculating look on his face. 

"Mister," he said. "Are you kidding 
me?" 

Lanier smiled a little. 

"If I am," he said quietly, "I'm do- 
ing a good job of it, if I do say it my- 
self. . . ." 

Silence fell over the four men now, 
and the only sound was the lapping of 
the waves and the muffled purr of the 
marine motor of the sleek launch. Once 
in a while there was the thud of a float- 
ing cake of ice against the hull. It was 
still early March, and there was ice in 
the river. 

Sutton and Varrone scanned the 
black shore of the Island. 

"Ugly looking stuff," said Sutton, 
"but the pigeons are walking over it, 
all right. It's been completely neu- 
tralized." 

Varrone looked anxiously at the 
Eugenics Laboratories tower looming 
up ahead of them, its ninety-story 
spire etching the sky like a fire-black- 
ened needle with its tip rubbed clean of 
soot. 

"Even if the gas entered the labora- 
tory," he said, "it wasn't in any great 
concentration at that height. The pre- 
cipitate extends barely to the fiftieth 
story." 

"Might not have even gotten up to 
the lab," remarked Welch. "The stuff, 
if I remember rightly, was plenty heavy. 
Stayed down under two hundred feet 
most of the time." 

The boat slowed now, as Welch 
guided it in toward the slip where once 


great liners like the Normandie had 
docked. The Swedish-American Line 
Piers were there, to the north, and Sut- 
ton threw a rope over a mooring post 
and made fast. 

Then he helped Varrone up onto the 
dock. The quartet stood there a mo- 
ment, surveying the oddly blackened 
city before them a moment. 

"Come on," said Lanier then, "the 
sooner I get to the lab the better I'll 
feel. I'm on pins and needles." 

As they hurried through the city, 
Matt Welch remarked: 

"Mighty good thing the war ended 
when it did. If they'd used this stuff, 
there wouldn't even be any men alive 
today! If I've ever seen a graveyard, 
its this city right now. Except for them 
pigeons. . . ." 

'"pHE elevators in the tower were not 
working. Lanier grunted. 

"Good thing we got all that exercise 
marching around the country, attend- 
ing executions, and running from ban- 
dits. We're going to need our legs to 
walk up those seventy stories." 

A half-hour later, panting and dry- 
lipped, they stood before the laboratory 
door, waiting while Sutton fumbled 
with the key with a hand that trembled. 

"I feel funny," whispered Welch, 
running a finger around the collar of 
his army shirt. "Thinking of that 
baby in there, about ready to be born — 
if nothing's happened to it — sort of gets 
me. I don't go for this kind of thing. 
I'd rather be in a good fight any 
day. . . ." 

The door swung open, and his voice 
died away. The four of them walked 
into the darkened interior, then halted. 
Before them was the warm orange glow 
from the incubator, like the living coals 
in a furnace. The soft, even hum of 
smoothly functioning machinery met 
their ears. 


2i 


AMAZING STORIES 


"Still running, as though we'd never 
left it! " exclaimed Sutton eagerly. 

But Matt Welch's goggling eyes 
weren't on the mechanical marvels of 
this hall of wonders. He was staring 
at the incubator itself, at the figure that 
floated limply in the bottom of it. 

"That ain't no baby in there!" he 
gasped. "If that ain't a grown woman, 
I'll eat my hat!" 

Lanier and Sutton leaped forward, 
followed by Varrone, who now forgot 
the fatigue caused by the long walk up 
the stairs. 

It was quite obvious to them all that 
Matt Welch would not have to eat his 
hat. 

Inside the glass casing of the incuba- 
tor floated a perfectly formed female 
body. It was that of a girl of apparently 
sixteen or seventeen, insofar as physical 
development was concerned. Her long, 
coal-black hair streamed slowly about 
in the chloro-serum. Her face was 
beautiful, and her eyes were closed, 
features placid, unmoving, un-alive. 

"The accelerated growth," said Var- 
rone in alarm, "it didn't slow down!" 

Lanier's face was grey with disap- 
pointment. 

"We're too late, by far," he said bit- 
terly. "She's probably been dead for 
three months. Perfectly preserved, of 
course, in that serum. . . ." 

"Not 'of course ! ' " said Sutton ex- 
citedly. "She wouldn't be perfectly 
preserved at all. Under that light, 
putrefaction would have set in almost 
immediately. She's in perfect condi- 
tion — and look! — she's moving!" 

One of the slim legs flexed slightly, 
exactly as that other embryo had, six 
months before. 

Henri Varrone sat down on a chair, 
a strange look on his face. 

"I don't understand how," he whis- 
pered, "but there it is. She's alive, and 
apparently developed to the stage, still 


in an embryonic environment, of a six- 
teen-year-old girl! By all the laws of 
nature she should have been walking 
and breathing now. Or she should be 
dead. But she's neither!" 
Lanier frowned. 

"Just what are we going to do about 
it?" he asked. "Should we take her 
out now and try to live normally, 
or—?" 

Varrone looked at him, an incredu- 
lous light flooding his face. 

"Are you trying to say . . ." 

"Why not?" interrupted Sutton ex- 
citedly. "Another month in the incu- 
bator and she'll be a mature woman. 
A mature woman, do you hear!" 

"It's fantastic," breathed Varrone. 
"In all my years, I've never dreamed of 
anything so biologically impossible as 
this. A full-grown human being, in less 
than seven months altogether. Twenty 
years, crowded into seven months. . . ." 

He stopped speaking as Matt Welch 
advanced slowly, an expression on his 
face none of them had ever seen there 
before. He went up to the incubator, 
close to the glass, and peered inside 
in fascination, 

"A full-grown woman," he muttered, 
"twenty years old — and there's nothing 
the matter with her!" 

TIE WHIRLED to Varrone. 

1 "Is that right?" he asked 
hoarsely. "Is she okay? She won't be 
like all the other women were, after 
Hitler got through with his damned 
rays?" 

"We don't know that yet," snapped 
Lanier. He was staring at Matt Welch 
through narrowed eyelids. "We won't 
know it for awhile — even if she lives 
after we take her out of there." 

Varrone was on his feet, seemingly 
oblivious of the question put to him. 
He was debating mentally on some 
problem. 


THE TEST TUBE GIRL 


"Got to get her head down," he said 
"She's in the wrong position utterly. 
In order to properly circulate the blood 
. . . I wonder!" 

"Wonder what?" asked Sutton, his 
interest adding fire to that of Henri 
Varrone's. He stepped up beside the 
older biologist. 

"Get out the cardio-meter," snapped 
Varrone. "We've got some experiments 
to make." 

Lanier and Sutton leaped to obey, 
and for the next hour Matt Welch was 
forgotten. He remained in the back- 
ground, watching with a strange mix- 
ture of fascination and studied calcula- 
tion as the three men set up the cardio- 
meter, and the calculating look in his 
eyes grew as through the laboratory 
boomed the greatly magnified sound of 
a human heart, beating steadily, 
strongly. 

Thud-thud. Thud-thud. Thud-thud- 
thud. Thud. 

"Yes," said Varrone. "We've got to 
suspend her in an inverted position. 
That heart-beat must be made regular. 
Her circulation is impaired." 

For a few more moments Matt Welch 
watched, then he turned to the door. 

"I'm going down to rustle some 
grub," he said. "You fellows are going 
to have your work cut out for you. 
I'll play cook." 

Lanier threw him a hasty glance. 

"Good idea," he agreed. "We'll be 
here hours yet. In fact," he decided 
"we're staying here for the next month. 
Better arrange to move some of your 
men over here and camp in the building. 
We may need help." 

Matt Welch nodded and went out. 

There was a new gleam in his eyes 
that grew stronger as he clumped down 
the interminable stairs. 

"That guy knows she's gonna be 
okay," he said aloud. "He's a sharp 
one, all right, but not as sharp as Matt 


Welch. I gotta do some more thinking 
now — and it ain't fifty years in the 
future this time. . . ." 

CHAPTER VI 
The Chlorophyll Girl 

'""pODAY will go down in Man's his- 
tory, either as the greatest mo- 
ment in all history, or as the blackest." 

Henri Varrone put the greatly en- 
larged micro-photograph down and 
turned to face his two colleagues. 

"This blood-cell photograph shows 
a perfectly normal structure; the shat- 
tered condition induced by Hitler's ray 
being entirely absent. She's normal, 
healthy, and fully mature. When we 
take her out of the incubator in a few 
minutes, Man's future will be decided. 
Either he goes on populating the globe, 
or this world becomes a dead planet, 
unpeopled by intelligent mammals." 

"Let's get it over with," said Lanier 
hoarsely. "If we don't get her out of 
that damned thing soon, I'll ..." 

"Yes," said Varrone quietly. "Let's 
get it over with." 

They set to work, and in a matter of 
minutes they were ready to shut down 
the faithfully purring Lindbergh mech- 
anism. One by one the three of them 
shut down the various valves. As 
Varrone pulled the master switch, com- 
plete mechanical silence settled on the 
laboratory. 

Lanier mounted his ladder, hastily 
unscrewed the bolts that held the cover 
of the incubator in place, and then 
pushed it aside. Plunging his arms 
into the chlorophyll liquid, he loosened 
the silver cables attached to the girl's 
feet and wrists, which had held her sus- 
pended head down in the glass interior. 
Then catching one hand, he lifted the 
still form, shining wetly green in the 
daylight, and arms under hers, lifted 


26 


AMAZING STORIES 


her out and carried her down the ladder. 

"Quick!" exclaimed Varrone. 

Lanier laid her down, took the loose 
cable still attached to her feet, slung 
it into the pulley provided for the pur- 
pose, and hauled the slim green form 
aloft until it swung free of the floor. 

"Sub-microelectric radiations!" Var- 
rone commanded. 

Sutton was ready, and the invisible 
rays bathed the green body for perhaps 
half a minute. 

"That should do it," he said. 

"Stimulus!" barked Varrone. 

Lanier hesitated a brief second, and 
he reddened. Then, lips tight, he 
stepped forward. The sound of a palm 
meeting bare flesh echoed sharply 
through the laboratory. Once, twice, 
three times it came. 

The suspended girl gave a slight gasp, 
then went silent again. 

"More!" said Varrone sharply. 

Lanier, his face red to his neck and 
his ears burning, applied himself to 
his task again. 

This time his efforts were rewarded. 
The slim green form writhed violently 
on its silver chain, and abruptly an out- 
raged feminine cry keened through the 
laboratory. It was not the cry of a 
baby, but the protesting scream of a 
woman who had been spanked. 

"Let her down!" commanded Var- 
rone, dancing about excitedly. "Good 
Lord, but she's mad! Let her down!" 

J ANIER, his hand still stinging, 
loosened the metal cable, grasped 
the girl's gasping form in one arm, and 
let the chain rattle through the pulley. 
Then, still holding the girl tightly, he 
snapped off the cuffs that held the 
chain to her ankles. 

Then, with difficulty because the 
burden in his arms was squirming so, 
he turned the girl right side up, and 
set her on her feet. Promptly she sat 


down on the floor, hard, and another 
surprised cry came from her lips. Then, 
as her eyes, open wide now revealing 
glowing green pupils, met the daylight, 
she stopped with a choked sob, whim- 
pered once or twice, and sat motionless, 
her gaze fixed on the source of light, 
unwaveringly, uncomprehendingly. 
She would have keeled over if Lanier 
hadn't dropped to one knee beside her 
and put an arm about her shoulder. 

Reflexively, her head turned sharply 
around, and her eyes stared at his face, 
but they looked beyond. They focused 
on nothing. 

"She's as helpless as a baby," said 
Lanier huskily. "She can't even con- 
trol her eyes." 

Varrone knelt too, felt her pulse. 

"Yes. She'll have to learn to do 
everything, just as a baby does. But I 
think she'll learn much faster. In a 
few months we should have her learning 
to talk. She's strong, and apparently 
healthy. She'll be learning to use her 
feet in a few days." 

But the slim, girlish figure lay quiet- 
ly in Lanier's arms now. Her head 
lolled back, and her eyes remained 
staring, the first green glow that had 
been in them almost faded away. All 
at once she drew her knees up and her 
arms folded around them. Her head 
dropped on her knees and she was quiet. 

"Reflexive embryonic reaction."* 
observed Varrone hesitantly. 

*Many people, even adults, like to "curl up" 
and assume the position of the embryo before 
birth. This is a natural tendency of some people 
while asleep. In this case, the green girl is re- 
sponding to an instinctive, hereditary reaction that 
is partly human, partly plantlike. She is assum- 
ing both the embryonic position, and imitating 
the closing of the petals of a flower, demonstrat- 
ing that some strange hereditary effect derived 
from the plant world may be a factor of the 
hormones in chlorophyll as well as it seems to 
be in the hormones of human beings. This is an 
interesting question, and scientists may discover 
that there is a curious relationship between 
human, animal life, and the plant world —Ed. 


THE TEST TUBE GIRL 


27 


Lanier looked up sharply, detecting 
the hesitancy in the older biologist's 
tones. 

"Something wrong?" he asked 
quickly. 

Varrone shook his head slowly. Then 
his eyes went to the window. Outside, 
it was snowing. A spring snowstorm 
had begun. Inside the laboratory it 
became almost dark, gloomy. 

"I don't think so," he said slowly. 
"It's natural that she wouldn't respond 
right now. You noticed how she faced 
the light at first; it's dimmed now. I 
think she's all right. ..." 

lV/TATT WELCH stepped out of the 
side corridor into which he had 
darted a moment before. He looked 
at Harland Lanier's broad back vanish- 
ing down the stairway at the end of the 
hall, then he grinned. 

"Now," he whispered, "we'll have a 
look at what's in that laboratory they 
claim is so delicate it mustn't be dis- 
turbed." 

He quickly opened the laboratory 
door, stepped inside, and closed it. He 
stared around. 

"Empty," he said. "What the hell 
is this?" 

He walked swiftly across the huge 
laboratory, his footsteps echoing on the 
floor. He entered a smaller room be- 
yond, then stopped in his tracks. 

Seated in an easy chair, facing him, 
was the green girl. Her eyes were wide 
open, staring, fixed on him. Her face 
was wan, emotionless, a pale, whitish 
green. In the gloomy light of the cloud- 
wrapped day, she seemed almost corpse- 
like. She was clad in a simple gown 
that scarcely hid the curves of her body. 
Through it Welch could see that she 
was scrawny, thin, and bony. 

"Hell!" he burst out. "They ain't 
feeding you right, sister!" He stopped, 
staring at her eyes. They seemed to 


look through him, beyond him. 

"Hello," he said tentatively, a little 
less emphatic. "Hello, can't you talk?" 
He stepped forward slowly, frowned. * 
He swallowed hard. 

"Hello," he repeated in a louder tone. 
He waved a hand before her eyes, then 
he backed away. 

"What's the matter with her?" he 
growled. Suddenly his jaw hardened. 
"Them damned biologists. They ain't 
so smart after all. They sure ain't tak- 
ing care of her right . . . I'll see about 
this, or my name ain't Matt Welch . . ." 

He halted abruptly, staring at the 
girl. The sun had just broken through 
the clouds and brilliant light streamed 
into the room. Almost like magic the 
former gloom of the place vanished, to 
be replaced by a springy warmth that 
made Welch blink. He fixed his eyes 
in wonder on the girl, who was moving 
now. 

Her head turned, quick and darting, 
almost as though her neck muscles were 
uncontrolled. She faced the sunlight. 
Her pale eyes began to glow. She 
lurched erect, would have fallen if 
Welch hadn't leaped forward and 
caught her. 

"Take it easy baby," he warned. 
"You ain't very strong yet." 

She squirmed in his grasp. 

"What's the matter, sugar?" he 
asked, puzzledly. "What's the fuss 
about?" Then his eyes widened. "Oh, 
I get it. You want to get over into the 
sunshine. Yeah, that's the idea, baby. 
You need sunshine and lots of it. Get 
rid of that damned green stuff on your 
skin. Get a little healthy tan — " 

He led her stumbling, erratic foot- 
steps over toward the window that 
opened on a veranda. He threw it open. 
It was a tall window that reached from 
the floor almost to the high ceiling. 
Brilliant sunlight lanced down, fell 
across the whole room. 


AMAZING STORIES 


The girl uttered a little gurgle of de- 
light, spread her arms toward the sun- 
shine, leaned forward, face uplifted. 

"Sure, baby," said Welch, leading 
her out onto the balcony, which was 
warm with the breath of spring. "Sure 
. . . let's get a little sun bath. Do you 
good." 

r pHE girl stood erect, swaying slight, 
Iy, and Welch released her and 
stepped back cautiously. 

"Say," he said admiringly. "You 
ain't a bad looker. A couple more 
pounds, and a little color, and you'll 
be a knockout. I think we're going to 
get along all ri . . . " 

"Welch!" came a harsh voice behind 
him. "What's going on here?" 

Mitt Welch whirled to face Harland 
Lanier, who stood in the doorway of 
the room, eyes blazing in anger. 

"Didn't I tell you to keep out of 
here?" Lanier grated. "Do you want 
to ruin everything?" 

Welch grinned. 

"Ruin everything? Me? You don't 
look so efficient to me. Take a look at 
that girl now! You guys ain't got sense 
enough to see she needs a little sunshine 
and good food and building up. She's 
as skinny as a rail. And I guess I can 
see, too, what you mean by 'ruining' 
everything. I'm onto your little game, 
Lanier. She's hot stuff, Mister. Yessir, 
I can sure see why ..." 

Face flaming in rage, Lanier leaped 
forward, his fists clenched. Welch 
braced himself, his fists closed, and he 
grinned. 

But behind him the green girl turned, 
and luminous eyes fixed on Lanier's 
face. She smiled brightly. 

"Hello," she said. "Hello, Hello." 

Stunned, Lanier stopped in his tracks. 
Welch dropped his fists and turned to 
look at the girl. At her feet lay her 
discarded gown, and the sunlight 


gleamed brightly on her pale green skin. 

"So you can talk . . . and act," Welch 
said admiringly. "Hello, baby, again, 
and pleased to meet you! " 

"Hello," she repeated, parrotlike, and 
her joyous smile grew. Her eyes re- 
mained fixed on Lanier's face. "Pleased 
to meet you . . . hello, baby!" 

CHAPTER VII 
"Like a Flower Blossoming . . ." 

"JT'S uncanny," said Lanier. "You 
should have seen her there in the 
sunlight, reaching out like a flower 
toward the sun, shedding her clothes 
so that her whole body might drink in 
the rays. She almost seemed to grow 
as I watched her; seemed to fill out 
those hollows in her cheeks where she'd 
lost weight. She drank up that sun- 
light like a sponge, I tell you. . . ." 

"Like a flower blossoming," said 
Varrone seriously. 

"That's it!" said Harland Lanier. 
"I'll swear her hair — you know how 
inky black it was — began to brighten as 
I watched it. Today her hair is as 
gold as the metal itself— and as shiny. 
It's the loveliest sun-gold colored hair 
any girl ever had; and her skin . . . 
a creamy light green, traced through 
everywhere by the darker green of her 
veins and arteries, showing through 
the skin like the traceries in a fresh, 
green leaf. 

"And talk! Why she repeats every- 
thing she hears, and remembers it too! 
She looks at you with those glowing 
green eyes of hers and recites every- 
thing she's ever heard. She still 
doesn't know what the words mean, but 
sometimes she gets out something in- 
telligible. Especially 'hello'. She 
knows what that means, and she chat- 
ters it like a monkey every time I come 
into the room." 


THE TEST TUBE GIRL 


29 


"Harland," Varrone interrupted 
him. "I'm worried." 

Lanier gaped at the older man. 

"Worried? What about?" 

"About . . . her." 

"You haven't got a thing to worry 
about," scoffed Lanier. "Sutton and I 
have given her every test known to 
medicine and biology, and she's per- 
fectly normal and healthy in every 
human aspect. And her plant nature 
hasn't done anything except give her 
some rather startling floral characteris- 
tics. That hair-changing stunt, for in- 
stance. She changes colors like a blos- 
soming flower. And she reaches out to 
the sun like the head of a daisy. But 
that's nothing to worry about. It adds 
to her beauty, which is quite striking." 

"I hope you're right," said Var- 
rone dubiously. "Somehow, I have 
a feeling that this strange mixture of 
flora and fauna bears some aspects that 
aren't quite evident as yet. I'll have 
to wait till later in the season to know. 
Perhaps with the coming of Fall . . ." 

Lanier frowned. 

"What's Fall got to do with it?" 

"Maybe nothing," Varrone answered. 
"I hope not." 

Lanier laughed and clapped the older 
man on the back. 

"Now that we've actually succeeded 
in creating a biologically normal 
woman, you haven't got anything to 
worry about, so you proceed to imagine 
things." 

Varrone nodded. 

"Maybe I do. But now, I've got 
some slides to examine, and I think 
you and Allan have some school work 
to attend to. You've got to educate 
our chlorophyll girl, you know." 

With that he hurried back to the 
laboratory. 

T ANIER looked after him a moment, 
then turned and opened the door 


to the quarters where the green girl 
had been made comfortable. As he 
entered, he heard her laugh pealing 
out. 

Her arms were tightLy around Allan 
Sutton's neck, and she was laughing de- 
lightedly, her head thrown back, her 
golden hair streaming down behind her 
like a waterfall of sunlight. 

Sutton's face was red, and he strug- 
gled to disengage her arms from him. 
He succeeded just as he saw Lanier 
enter. 

"Good Lord!" he burst out. "She's 
like a clinging vine. She nearly stran- 
gled me to death." 

Lanier grinned. 

"From the way she's laughing, I'd 
say she thought it was a good idea. 
Good thing for you she hasn't got any 
thorns." 

"Oh hasn't she?" Sutton replied rue- 
fully. "She's got the sharpest finger- 
nails I've ever run across! If she's like 
any flower at all, I'd say it was the 
tiger-lily." 

"By the way," Lanier said casually, 
trying to keep his eyes away from the 
girl, who had stopped laughing now 
and was staring intently at him, "your 
mention of a flower reminds me we 
haven't given her a name yet. What'll 
we call her?" 

Sutton looked thoughtful. 

"How about Flora?" he suggested. 
"Flora and fauna, you know." 

"No," Lanier shook his head. 
"Sounds like a cigar." 

"Rose, Lily, Daisy . . ." 

"Le fleur," Lanier went on. "The 
flower. Ah! I've got it! We'll call 
her Fleurette." 

"Hey, that sounds okay to me," Sut- 
ton said enthusiastically. "Fleurette it 
is." He turned to the girl, seemed 
about to address her by her new name, 
then stopped as he saw the intentness 
with which her gaze was centered on 


30 


AMAZING STORIES 


Lanier. 

"Hello," she said suddenly. "Hello, 
Harland Lanier ! " 

Lanier's jaw dropped for an instant, 
and his eyes went wide. Then, he 
swallowed hastily, recovered his com- 
posure and answered. 

"Hello, Fleurette," he said. "I 
hardly expected that from you, yet." 

"Hardly expected," she agreed 
brightly. "The sun is beautiful, isn't 
it?" 

Allan Sutton scratched his head. 

"It's amazing how fast she learns," 
he said. "I said that to her just before 
you came in, and that's when she threw 
her arms around my neck: Now she's 
repeating it, and getting close to the 
proper place to use it. Like your name. 
I told her that too, but for the life of 
me, I don't know how she understood 
who I was talking about." 

"Maybe being part plant has some- 
thing to do with it," suggested Lanier. 
"You know how fast a flower grows 
and develops in a short season." 

Sutton shot a startled glance at 
Lanier. 

"Maybe Varrone's got something 
there at that," he said with a new 
thoughtful seriousness. 

"Say," Lanier stared at him. "What's 
this all about anyway? What are you 
two muttering about? Both of you 
sound like a couple of Calamity 
Janes ! " 

Sutton shrugged. 

"Personally I don't think there's 
anything to worry about, but Varrone 
seems to think she's too much like a 
plant." 

"He told me that too, but I don't 
see it. If you ask me," Lanier went on 
drily, "she was reacting quite em- 
phatically like a human being and not 
a plant, when I came in here." 

Sutton reddened. 

"I didn't give her any encourage- 


ment . . ." he began. 

"She catches on quick, though," 
Lanier said. Then, noticing the gath- 
ering frown in Sutton's eyes, he 
laughed. "Take it easy, Allan. I don't 
mean anything. Maybe I'm just a lit- 
tle bit jealous. She sure had you in a 
nice spot ... for you ! " 

Sutton grinned sheepishly. 

"Yeah," he admitted. "It was kind 
of nice!" 

CHAPTER VIII 
Fleurette— Woman or Plant? 

"O nly two months > and il seems Ive 
lived many years already," the 
girl said, looking straight into the set- 
ting sun which painted its red and 
gold glories on the western sky and re- 
flected them on the city stretched Out 
below. "It's all been so wonderful to 
me. And at the same time, it's been 
so frightening." 

"Frightening?" Lanier looked at 
her, his eyes devouring the flaming 
beauty of her golden hair, her rich, 
creamy, pale greenish skin glowing like 
living moonlight. In the two months 
of summer, she had grown strikingly 
beautiful. Each day had seemed to 
add to her beauty, until now, with the 
near approach of Fall, she had attained 
a peak of perfection that reminded 
Lanier of the full, robust, yet delicate 
beauty of a shining poplar tree, or a 
slim, white birch. "Frightening?" he 
repeated. "Why do you say that?" 

She stared speculatively at the set- 
ting sun, watching its red half-disc van- 
ishing beyond the hills off to the west- 
ern skyline. 

"Because I'm not like other people — 
like you, for instance. I sense a 
strange difference, and it perturbs me. 
Sometimes I wonder — and I'm afraid." 

"You've got nothing to be afraid of," 


THE TEST TUBE SIRL 


Lanier said. "Unless it's Matt Welch. 
Has he been bothering you again? 
If he has, I'll break his . . ." 

"No," she said swiftly. "He hasn't 
been bothering me. I'm not afraid of 
him. It's something else . . . the duty 
that faces me. I'm afraid you and 
Allan and Henri are staking too much 
on me. The whole human race — " 

"You're all we have to stake any- 
thing on," he said. "You're the only 
normal woman in the whole world . . ." 

"Normal woman,' 1 she said, with 
peculiar emphasis on the word. 

His brow furrowed. 

"What do you mean by that?" he 
asked. 

She shrugged a bit, and it seemed 
somehow like the upspringing of a leaf 
that has just been relieved of the bur- 
den of a clinging drop of water. So 
many of her motions were like danc- 
ing leaves, swaying boughs, nodding 
flowers . . . 

"You yourself named me Fleurette," 
she said. "And I feel that it fits me 
well. Perhaps too well. Maybe I am 
a flower." 

"The most beautiful one in the 
world," he said, then laughed. "If 
you aren't a normal, healthy, com- 
pletely womanly woman, then I'm not 
a biologist. By every test, you are one- 
hundred percent human. And looking 
like a flower only adds to your charm. 
Your hair, for instance; first it was 
pitch black, then it turned bright gold 
with the summer sun, and now, with 
the coming of Fall, I'll swear it is turn- 
ing red! Red like the leaves of an oak 
touched by the frost ..." 

"Don't!" she said in sudden terror. 
"Don't say that!" 

TTE BECAME still, aghast. But 
only for a moment. He took her 
hand in his and sought to stop its trem- 
bling. 


"Fleurette ... I ..." he fumbled, 
" . . . I'm sorry to frighten you. I 
didn't realize that you were frightened. 
But what is it? Tell me I'm sure 
that whatever it is must be something 
silly that I can explain away in a 
minute, just like I've explained every- 
thing else to you." 

The sun had dropped behind the 
hill by this time, and the deep purple 
of night was sweeping swiftly over the 
city. Now that no lights were in that 
city below, it seemed not to exist at 
night, when there was no moon. It 
just faded out, became one with the 
wilderness that was New Jersey. 

Her eyes were fixed on the black- 
ness, and she seemed unaware for the 
moment of his words, or of her hand 
in his. It was a limp, cool, unmoving. 
He squeezed it a bit, but there was no 
response. 

"Fleurette," he repeated gently. 
"What's wrong?" 
She stirred. 

"Oh, nothing," she said distantly. "I 
think it must be just my imagination. 
But Henry did say I was a plant — 
when Allan talked to him about me." 

"About you?" 

"Yes . . ." her response trailed off, 
and he couldn't catch it. 

"Do you like him?" he asked. 

"Oh yes, very much. He's nice." 

Once more her voice trailed off. For 
a moment he was silent, a swirl of emo- 
tions sweeping through him, then he 
gripped her shoulders, turned her 
around so that she faced him. 

"Fleurette," he said huskily. "I 
can't hold it back any longer. I've got 
to say it. We're here under very 
strange circumstances. Neither of us, 
you especially, have self to think of. 
We're not important, as individual 
people. You are vastly important, as 
humanity itself. And I don't amount 
to much. But there's one thing I do 


AMAZING STORIES 


know . . . 

"I love you, Fleurette." 

Her deep green eyes seemed staring 
into his, but they were vague and far 
away. They seemed to look through 
him. And she seemed not to have 
heard him. 

"Fleurette," he repeated softly. 
"Are you listening to what I'm say- 
ing? I love you, do you understand, 
and I want you to be my wife." 

She swayed slightly, like a bough in 
the wind, toward him, and he drew 
her into his arms. He pressed his lips 
against hers hungrily, tightly. Then 
abruptly he drew erect and visible even 
in the night, his face went pale. 

"I . . . I'm sorry, Fleurette," he 
said after a moment, in which he fought 
for control. "I thought . . ." 

Then he turned and went in. And 
behind him, the girl stood silently, her 
arms folded about her slim shoulders, 
and her head bowed. She seemed 
oddly like a sleeping flower, with its 
petals closed for the night. 

Lanier walked down the long hall- 
way toward his room, his emotions 
frozen inside him. 

"Cold!" he whispered tensely. "Her 
lips might have been ice, for all the re- 
sponse she gave me. She couldn't have 
given me a better answer. It's Allan 
she loves, not me." 

At the door of his room he stopped, 
and a dry grin came to his face. 

"Just like me," he said, "to wait till 
there's only one woman left in the 
world to fall in love!" 

1LIENRI Varrone and Allan Sutton 
faced each other in the laboratory, 
which was weirdly. lit with the red glow 
of the autumn sunrise. 

"The implications are almost too ob- 
vious," said Varrone heavily. "I have 
been trying hard to reason a way 
around them for months, but I'm begin- 


ning to feel that my suspicions are 
right." 

Sutton's face was pale. 

"Like last night," he agreed. "I 
found her out on the balcony, in the 
dark. She was kneeling there, arms 
folded, head down, just like she did that 
day when we took her out of the incu- 
bator, before spring came and changed 
her hair to gold, and made her live 
like a beautiful flower. 

"The flowers in the balcony flower 
boxes were what brought it home to me 
most strongly. They were drooping 
too, in almost exactly the same pos- 
ture. Bowed for the night, waiting for 
the sunlight of the next day. 

"I tried to rouse her, but she simply 
wouldn't respond." 

"Yes, Allan, that's exactly it," agreed 
Varrone. "She's more and more like 
a flower each day. No response at 
night, vivacious and beautiful during 
the day. And she changes with the 
seasons." 

Sutton was quiet a moment, his eyes 
bearing a thoughtful look that brought 
tiny wrinkles of concern to his eyes. 

"Poor Harland," he muttered. 
"What a slap in the face it must have 
been to him, and he doesn't even sus- 
pect . . ." 

"Eh?" asked Varrone. "What are 
you saying?" 

Sutton looked up, startled. 

"Was I thinking out loud? I didn't 
mean to." 

"What's all this about 'poor Har- 
land'?" 

"He's in love with her," said Sut- 
ton quietly. 

"In love with her! How do you 
know?" 

"I saw them on the balcony last 
night, and I couldn't help hearing him 
ask her to marry him. I'd been on my 
way to find her, to see that she came in 
for the night." 


THE TEST TUBE GIRL 


33 



d, unresponsive 


"Well," asked Varrone impatiently. 
"What happened?" 

"She didn't respond, plantlike, and 
he asked her again. She swayed against 
him, and he thought she wanted to be 
kissed, so he did ..." 

"And?" 

Sutton shrugged. 

"She was cold as ice, of course. 
Maybe never even knew she was being 
kissed. And he thought it was because 
she was turning him down. He looked 
like a whipped puppy when he walked 
away. And when he had gone, she 
knelt down like I was just telling you." 


Varrone frowned. 

"It's too bad," he said. "I'm sorry 
it has to pan out this way." 

"She loves him, too," said Sutton. 
"From the very beginning when she 
said 'hello,' her first word, it was to 
him. It was his name she remembered 
first. And when he comes in, it's just 
like when she steps into the sunlight; 
she lights up and smiles with every 
inch of her." 

"We mustn't tell him," said Var- 
rone. 

Sutton frowned. 

"Why not?" 


34 


AMAZING STORIES 


"Because, lad, I'm sure now, that I'm 
right. She's a plant ! " 
"A plant?" 
"Yes." 

"You mean . . ." 

"It's the end for man," said Var- 
rone bitterly. "She was woman's last 
hope, and she's a plant! A plant, do 
you hear? When snow falls, she will 
die — and mankind will die. We've 
failed to create a new Eve. And that's 
why we can't tell Harland. It's better 
that he thinks she doesn't love him . . ." 

A slight noise halted him. 

Outside the doorway a slim form 
stood against the wall, one hand pressed 
against her heart. 

"Yes," she was whispering to her- 
self, "it's better that he thinks I don't 
love . . ." 

"Girl," said Varrone, coming out into 
the hallway and taking her arm gently, 
"what are you whispering about? How 
long have you been here? Did you hear 
what we were saying?" 

CHAPTER IX 

"It's Because We're Different!" 

"T DIDN'T believe Henri was right 
in not telling you," said Sutton. 
"I couldn't keep on concealing the truth 
from you and cheating you of the lit- 
tle happiness you might have. After 
all, we're all done now, and if there's 
anything bright left in the world, there's 
no use letting it perish without a chance 
to shine for a time . . ." 

Harland Lanier stared at his fellow- 
biologist. 

"You mean that she's a plant, as 
truly as any flower, and that she will 
fade and die when the snow comes — 
like any flower?" 

"That's the simple truth," said Sut- 
ton sadly. "The chlorophyll has so 
changed her that the human life span 


means nothing. She has the life span 
of a flower, growing with the spring, 
flowering with the summer, withering 
with the frost, and dying with the snow- 
fall. She's really a plant, Harland. 
You've noticed her hair today: it's not 
gold, any more, it's red, and brown, and 
yellow — just like the leaves in the Fall. 
If we needed more proof, that would 
be it." 

"Allan," said Lanier huskily, "you're 
the finest man I ever knew, and the 
best friend. But it's no go. She doesn't 
love me. Even knowing she's going to 
die. I can't snatch at a last few mo- 
ments of happiness. She doesn't want 
me. It's you she loves, if you'd admit 
it." 

"I got my answer in the daylight!" 
said Sutton. "No, old man, it's you 
she loves, and my advice is for you to 
go to her and have another try at it." 

He clapped Lanier on the shoulder, 
grinned, and walked away, but as he 
went, the smile faded, and he swal- 
lowed hard. 

Lanier stood looking after him, a 
puzzled look on his face. 

"Got his answer in the daylight?" he 
said wonderingly. "What did he mean 
by that?" 

His eyes widened. 

"Good Lord! " he exclaimed. "That's 
it! She is a plant. Naturally her re- 
sponses were negative in the dark. She 
was asleep! Really asleep, like a 
flower in the night." 

He started on the run down the 
hallway, then came to a stop. 

"You fool! " he whispered to himself. 
"She is a plant. You're a human be- 
ing. Even the sorriest biologist of them 
all would have sense enough to realize 
she couldn't love you. She's different; 
a plant. It's because we're different, 
that she acted that way when I asked 
her to marry me. That's why she 
didn't respond." 


THE TEST TUBE GIRL 


35 


He walked aimlessly out onto the 
balcony. He stared over the city, be- 
coming bleak now with the approach 
of Fall. Leaves were falling every- 
where in Central Park. His fingers 
toyed idly with a withered flower stalk 
in a flower box on the rail. He drew 
his hand back with a sharp exclama- 
tion as a thorn penetrated his skin. 

A drop of blood appeared on one 
finger, and he looked at it. 

"She's a plant," he repeated, then 
with growing excitement, "because of 
the chloro-blood in her veins. The 
hormones of chlorophyll 1 That's why 
she's different. Otherwise, we are still 
man and woman. I've got it . . ." 

He whirled, raced from the balcony 
and into the laboratory. 

TTENRI VARRONE paused at the 
door of the laboratory and looked 
at the streak of light coming from be- 
neath it. 

"Still working," he mused. "What 
is the boy up to?" 

He opened the door, peered in. Then 
his brow wrinkled in puzzlement, and 
he entered, closed the door softly be- 
hind him. He walked slowly forward 
to where Harland Lanier sat in a chair 
beside a laboratory bench, surrounded 
by complicated apparatus. He was sit- 
ting there tensely, one hand gripping 
the arm of the chair so tightly his 
knuckles gleamed whitely in the light. 
He was sweating profusely, and his 
breath came in gasps through tight lips. 
His other arm Varrone could not see, 
but he did see the glass jar of brilliant 
green liquid beside the chair in which 
Lanier sat. 

"Chlorophyll!" he exclaimed. "What 
are you doing, lad?" 

He advanced, confronted the startled 
Lanier, looked at the bared arm, the 
tiny rubber hoses that led from 
the chlorophyll tank to transfusion 


needles imbedded in Lanier's veins. 
Through glass tubes he could see the 
red blood that was Lanier's coursing, to 
mingle with the chlorophyll to a fixed 
degree and circle once more to return 
to the body from which it came. 

"Are you trying to kill yourself ! " he 
asked harshly. "Here, turn that infer- 
nal machine off . . ." 

"Nol" Lanier half rose from his seat, 
then sank back weakly. "No, Henri, 
don't stop it. I'm doing what I want 
to do." 

"This might prove fatal!" ex- 
claimed Varrone protestingly. "What 
on earth is your purpose in such a crazy 
experiment?" 

"Sutton told me about Fleurette this 
morning," said Lanier, his face shining 
with sweat in the laboratory light. 
"You should have told me before this. 
She's a plant, and I've decided to be- 
come like her. She won't respond to 
me as I am, so, even if it does mean we 
will both die when the snow falls, it 
doesn't make much difference. I think 
I have the right to snatch at the few 
brief moments of happiness I can get 
this way . . ." 

Henri Varrone's face took on a 
stricken look for an instant. 

"I'm sorry, boy," he said. "I didn't 
realize . . ." 

"Henri," interrupted Lanier in a 
whisper. "I'm getting very dizzy. 
I think I'll . . . pass out ... in a 
minute or . . . so. Finish this business 
up for me . . . promise . . . even 
if it kills ..." 

He reeled, and Varrone leaped for- 
ward, pushed him back in the seat, held 
him steady. Lanier had fainted. 

Varrone's scientific eye glanced at 
the many recording meters critically, 
and in a moment his face took on a pro- 
fessional look of interest. He felt 
Lanier's pulse and nodded. 

"No matter what the outcome, he 


AMAZING STORIES 


certainly is doing a good job of it," he 
muttered. "Sure, lad, I'll finish up for 
you. But you're going to be a mighty 
sick biologist for awhile. Mighty sick!" 

CHAPTER X 
Matt Welch Kidnaps a Queen 

nPHE acrid smell of wood smoke was 
in the crisp morning air. Matt 
Welch stood on the bank of the Hud- 
son, leaning on his rifle, staving across 
toward Manhattan. 

He looked down to where the boat 
was being readied. 

"Captain Iverly!" he barked. 

"Yes, sir," came the voice of the cap- 
tain from below him. 

"Don't forget those tear-gas bombs. 
That'll be about all we'll really need. 
We'll smoke 'em out, tie 'em up. and be 
away before they know what it's all 
about." 

"I've got them loaded, sir," said 
Iverly. "Two whole cases. That's 
about all we'll be able to carry." 

"Good." 

Welch turned away from the bank 
and went back to the campfire where 
a soldier stood at attention. 

"Okay, Barnes," he said. "You can 
get back to Pittsburgh now. Pick up 
Preacher Comstock, and take him to 
Mountain Camp. We'll meet you there, 
and we'll have a little wedding all by 
ourselves. Then we can ride trium- 
phantly into Pittsburgh, the new King 
and Queen of America." 

Barnes grinned widely, showing 
white teeth in appreciation. 

"Yes, sir," he said, and saluted 
sharply. "I'll be ready for you." 

He turned to go. 

"Wait a minute," said Welch. 

"Yes, sir." 

"Wear your Lieutenant's uniform for 
the ceremony." 


"Lieutenant's uniform . . .?" The 
soldier's eyes went wide, then he 
snapped to attention, saluted again. 
"Thank you sir, I will!" 

Welch grinned at him, as he strode 
off, kicked out the embers of the fire, 
and went down to the boat where Iverly 
waited for him. 

"Come on," he said, "let's go. The 
Empire of New America is about to ac- 
quire a queen ! " 

Matt Welch relaxed on the comfort- 
able cushions of the swanky launch he 
had procured for this purpose, and con- 
tentedly watched the shore of Manhat- 
tan draw nearer as the fast cruiser 
purred across the water. 

"This'U give that smart guy, Lanier, 
an idea of who's boss in this country 
now," he said to himself. "Thinks he 
can keep that dame for himself, does 
he? Well, he's got another think com- 
ing. Matt Welch don't let no scientific 
punk snatch a cute number like that 
away from him — not when she's the 
last one in the world! Queen Welch, 
she's gonna be, and our kids is gonna 
be the first of a long line of royalty!" 

He grinned to himself as a thought 
struck him. 

"Adam Welch, that's me!" he said 
aloud. 

"What did you say, sir?" Captain 
Iverly turned from the wheel. 

"I was just thinking out loud," said 
Welch. "And it's kinda nice thinking." 

"I get you, sir," said Iverly, grin- 
ning. "I get you." 

"J_TE'S been out like this a week," 
said Varrone, "but he's coming 
around now. The chlorophyll disrupted 
his entire metabolism. I thought for 
awhile he'd never come out of it." 

Sutton stared down at Lanier's face. 

"He looks just like she does," he said. 
"His skin isn't quite as green, but 
apparently he's succeeded in introduc- 


THE TEST TUBE GIRL 


37 


ing the new element successfully. I'd 
say that in a matter of months, he'd 
change quite a bit more, and become as 
much plant-human as Fleurette is." 

"I think so," said Varrone, and 
added bitterly, "and by that time he'll 
be dead, just as she will. He'll outlast 
her, because he hasn't as much of it as 
she has, but when it takes full grip on 
his body, he'll wither like a hothouse 
plant put out in freezing temperatures." 

"Have you told Fleurette what he's 
done?" 

"No. I didn't know if he'd live, and 
I didn't want to disturb her. You 
know, I'm almost certain she heard 
what we said that day. She knows she's 
going to die. She's been pretty moody 
lately." 

"I've noticed that. And I'm quite 
sure she's been planning something. 
She's been very secretive, and I haven't 
been able to draw her into conversa- 
tion." 

A moan came from Lanier's lips, and 
Varrone bent over him. 

"Time for a little stimulus," he de- 
cided. "I'd better give him a little ra- 
diation." 

"That reminds me," Sutton said. "I 
came in to tell you there's a launch 
coming across the Hudson. I saw it 
from the tower a half-hour ago. I 
think it's Matt Welch, coming back." 

"Wonder what he wants?" Varrone 
asked. "I don't care for that fellow 
much. He's gotten too big for his 
britches over in Pittsburgh. Got ideas 
of an Empire of New America, with 
himself as the head of it." 

AT ATT WELCH paused before the 
huge doors of Eugenics Laborato- 
ries and looked up. 

"Well," he said. "We're here. 
Gimme a couple of those tear-gas 
bombs, Iverly. We'll probably not need 
'em, but I'd just like to make that 


Lanier guy's eyes smart anyway — be- 
fore I break him in half." 

Captain Iverly handed several of the 
bombs to Welch, pocketed several him- 
self, and put the rest in a knapsack he 
slung over his shoulder. Then he loos- 
ened the flap on his service revolver hol- 
ster. 

"I'm ready," he said briefly. 

They climbed the stairs in silence, 
the regular clumping sound of their 
boots echoing up the stair well. They 
were breathing heavily when they 
reached the seventieth floor. 

"Glad I don't have to climb buildings 
like this to do all my fighting," puffed 
Iverly. "I'd get flat feet." 

"Shut up," said Welch. "I want to 
surprise these guys. Don't want to be 
fooling around breaking down locked 
doors." 

"Sorry, Mr. Welch," came a voice 
behind him. "We can't accommodate 
you by being surprised, and I'm afraid 
you won't have any doors to break 
down." 

Matt Welch whirled around, and 
faced the leveled automatic in Allan 
Sutton's hand. He stood still, said 
nothing. 

"What do you want?" asked Sutton. 
"The girl," said Welch briefly, 
levelly. 

"I thought so. Well, you can just 
march right back down those stairs and 
get out of here, and stay out. She's 
staying right here." 

"Think so?" Welch laughed shortly. 
"What're you gonna do to stop me from 
taking her?" 

"Kill you, if necessary," said Sut- 
ton coldly. 

"Well, you'd better start shooting 
now," said Welch. "Because I'm com- 
ing to take that popgun away from 
you." 

He began walking forward slowly. 
Sutton's face whitened a bit, but he 


AMAZING STORIES 


didn't waver. 

"Two more steps and you are a dead 
man ! " he whispered hoarsely. 

A door on the corridor opened. Fleu- 
rette stepped out directly between Sut- 
ton and the grimly advancing Welch. 

"Get back, Fleurette!" said Sutton 
in alarm. "Don't come any furth — " 

But he was too late. Matt Welch, 
taking swift advantage of the situation, 
whirled, grasped the girl in his arms, 
and held her between Sutton's men- 
acing gun and himself. 

"Now, Mr. Sutton," he sneered. "If 
you'll kindly drop that gun, it will pre- 
vent Captain Iverly from shooting you 
through the guts." 

The gun clattered to the floor of the 
corridor from Sutton's nerveless fingers. 
He stood, white and still, as Iverly ad- 
vanced, patted his pockets and moved 
around behind him. The gun jabbed 
into his spine. 

"If you'll lead the way, Mr. Sutton," 
said Iverly pleasantly, "we'll find some 
rope and tie you up nice and comfy." 

Matt Welch grinned, then transferred 
his attention to Fleurette, who was 
squirming in his grasp. 

"Take it easy, baby," he said. "I 
ain't gonna hurt you. I'm going to 
take you out of this dump, and put you 
where a girl of your type belongs. 
You're gonna be a queen, baby, and I 
ain't kidding about that. Even Cleo- 
patra didn't rule over no Empire like 
I'm gonna have. This whole damn 
world will kowtow to both of us, and 
they'll keep on doing it until they die. 
But you an' me, we won't die. We'll 
be Mr. and Mrs. Adam and Eve Welch, 
and the Welch's will be the whole hu- 
man race, someday." 

T^LEURETTE stopped squirming and 
looked up at the face of the big 
man. There was a strange look in her 
eyes. 


"You mean, you want to take me 
away from here, and never come back?" 
she asked. 

"That's what I mean, baby," Welch 
assured her. "We're going to Pitts- 
burgh, our new capital. The Empire 
of New America. I'm King, and you're 
gonna be Queen. How's that sound to 
you, baby? Nothing slow about Matt 
Welch. You can have everything. 
Jewels, fancy clothes, anything in the 
world to pick from." 

"You'll go right now," pursued Fleu- 
rette, "and take nobody else?" 

Matt Welch looked at her. 

"Oh, I get it. You want to get away 
from these dumb scientists who keep 
you cooped up, eh?" 

"Yes, yes, that's it ! " she said breath- 
lessly. "You'll leave them behind, 
won't you?" 

Welch laughed aloud. 

"Sure, kid. They can stay here and 
putter around with test tubes and the 
like. We ain't got no place for them 
in Pittsburgh. We got more efficient 
fellows over there. Guys who know 
how to make guns, and tanks, and 
planes. ..." 

"Then let's go now," she interrupted. 
"Here comes Captain Iverly. Let's 
leave before they know you're here." 

"Okay," agreed Welch. He looked 
at Iverly, who was thrusting his service 
revolver back into its holster. 

"Everything okay, Captain Iverly?" 
he asked gravely. "If it is, we'll be 
going, without bothering anybody else. 
Let 'em think we ain't been here." He 
winked. 

Iverly caught the wink. 

"Sure, everything's fine. I tied Sut- 
ton up like a mummy, and had a few 
words with Varrone. He objected, but 
I persuaded him we were just paying 
a friendly visit. He doesn't like us, 1 
guess. Anyway, he said to tell you he'd 
see you in hell. T didn't see Lanier. 


THE TEST TUBE GIRL 


39 


Guess he's out paying a social call." 

"Well," said Welch easily. "I guess 
we'll have to skip saying hello to him 
this time. Maybe he'll drop in for a 
friendly chat later on, in Pittsburgh. 
No use wasting time now to pay our 
respects. So let's get going." 

"Yes," said Fleurette eagerly. "I 
want to see Pittsburgh." 

CHAPTER XI 
"Some Flowers Have Thorns" 

tTARLAND LANIER struggled up 
out of the mists that had clouded 
his brain for what had seemed an eter- 
nity of time. He lay for a moment, 
eyes closed, trying to remember some- 
thing. What was it he wanted to do 
this morning? He shook his head 
weakly. 

"Can't think of it," he muttered. 
"Couldn't have been very important." 

He opened his eyes and stared idly 
around. Then abruptly he sat up. The 
movement brought a wave of dizziness, 
and he fell back again, his face break- 
ing out with sweat. 

"The chlorophyll ! " he gasped. "Now 
I remember. I did it already." 

He struggled once more erect and 
clambered from the bed. He was in 
his pyjamas. 

"So Varrone did finish up for me," 
he said wonderingly. "I must have 
passed out." 

He staggered over to the mirror and 
looked into it. His face was a pale 
green color, and haggard, thin, drawn. 
There was a week's growth of beard on 
his face. 

"It worked!" he exclaimed. "Henri 
Varrone, you're a grand old man. You 
carried it out to the finish!" 

He raised a hand to his beard. 

"I must have been sick for a long 
time," he said wonderingly. "At least 


a week." 

Securing his clothes, he dressed with 
an effort, shaved, and then turned to 
the door. His knees wobbled beneath 
him. 

"I am weak," he whispered. "I'd 
better sit down and rest a moment." 

When his trembling had ceased, he 
rose to his feet once more and made 
his way to the laboratory. The lights 
were still on, although it was daylight. 

"That's odd," he muttered. "And 
Where's everybody?" 

He moved forward, rounded a lab- 
oratory bench, then stopped short in 
horror. 

"Henri!" he gasped. 

Stretched out before him was the 
limp body of the old biologist. On the 
floor beside his head was a dried pool 
of blood, and in the center of his fore- 
head was a ghastly blue hole. 

"He's been shot! " 

T ANIER'S shocked tones echoed 
through the deserted laboratory. 
The emptiness of the sound was another 
shock to him. 

"Allan!" he called. "Allan, where 
are you?" 

There was no answer. 

Forgetting his weakness, Lanier 
searched the entire laboratory. Finally, 
in a darkened corner he found Sutton's 
trussed up form. Hastily he loosened 
the ropes that bound him, and removed 
the gag from his mouth. Then he lifted 
the paralyzed biologist to his feet and 
walked him around carefully until he 
had regained some control of his limbs. 

"Water," croaked Sutton with diffi- 
culty. 

Lanier allowed the biologist to sink 
down into a chair, then got a beaker 
full of distilled water from a jug on the 
shelf. Sutton sipped it slowly, wetting 
his swollen tongue. Then he lifted him- 
self to his feet. 


40 


AMAZING STORIES 


"Matt Welch," he gasped with an 
effort. "He came and kidnaped Fleu- 
rette " 

Lanier went pale. He gripped Sut- 
ton's arm savagely. 

"Where'd he take her?" 

"To Pittsburgh". He's set up an Em- 
pire, he calls it, there, and he's making 
Fleurette his queen." 

"He can't do that — she's going to 
die!" 

Sutton shook his head. 

"He doesn't know that. He thinks 
she's going to be all right." 

"We've got to get her," said Lanier. 
"How long ago was this?" 

"I don't know. I think it was yes- 
terday. It seemed longer, but 1 don't 
remember more than one night pass- 
ing." 

Sutton chafed his wrists with hands 
that shook. He stood up. 

"I guess I can move now. Let's get 
started." 

He looked closely at Lanier. 

"How do you feel?" he asked. "You 
look pretty weak, but your face cer- 
tainly looks like Fleurette's. It's the 
same green, although a little less pro- 
nounced in color." 

"Never mind that now," said Lanier. 
"I feel weak, but I'm picking up a bit. 
Maybe when we get out into that sun- 
shine outside, I'll get a little more 
strength. It's pretty bright outside for 
this time of the year." 

"Indian summer," acknowledged Sut- 
ton. "We should get a couple of days 
of this weather before snow begins to 
fly." 

"I'll probably need it," said Lanier 
grimly. 

\ S Lanier drove the power launch up 
the sandy shore of the Jersey side 
of the Hudson, beneath the towering 
Palisades, the noonday sun was hot and 
warm in the heavens. The hills were 


a riot of autumn color, the only sign 
that this was not the true summer, but 
only a few days of grace before winter 
began to close her frosty hand down 
over the landscape. 

"You look a hundred percent better," 
remarked Sutton. "In fact, you're 
stronger than I am. It's remarkable 
the restorative powers the chloro- 
blood has upon the human system." 

He didn't mention the strange change 
that had taken place in the biologist's 
hair. It was rusty red, shot through 
with yellow and brown streaks, like a 
frost-nipped oak leaf. 

"It's the sun," said Lanier. "I feel 
very strong. I only hope this weather 
lasts until we get to Matt Welch and 
settle matters with him." 

He strapped a cartridge belt around 
his waist, and shouldered the rifle. Then 
he stepped from the boat, and Sutton 
followed him, similarly armed. They 
climbed up the steep slope. 

At the top, Sutton pointed down. 

"There's his launch," he said. "That 
proves we're on the right track, all 
right. He wasn't lying about Pitts- 
burgh." 

"Pittsburgh's a long way," said 
Lanier. 

"We can get a car in a mile or so. 
The roads aren't bad. We may have 
to clear away a fallen tree or two. But 
I'd say that Welch'd have to take care 
of that, if he went through this way." 

"That's right. Come on, let's get 
that car." 

They found several abandoned autos. 
Most of them would not run, or had 
flat tires. But eventually, through dint 
of switching tires from one car to the 
other, they got a complete set, and had 
a car in running condition. It started 
hard. 

"Gas is old," said Sutton, "greatly 
evaporated." 

Several times along the road, they 


THE TEST TUBE GIRL 


41 


stopped to drain the gasoline from an 
abandoned car, until they had a full 
tank. Then they went on, making 
fairly good time. 

The desolation of the countryside 
was not lost on them, but Lanier's mind 
was on his purpose, and Sutton's face 
was grim as he watched his companion's 
rapid, fantastic physical changes. The 
sun was hot, and with its heat, Lanier 
changed. Although he seemed stronger, 
he seemed to age by the hour. And his 
hair became shot through with streaks 
of grey, and almost white. 

All at once Lanier slammed on the 
brakes. They had just rounded a curve, 
and a large tree sprawled across the 
highway. 

"Here's where we work," Lanier said, 
and Sutton tumbled out of the car 
ahead of him. 

"Hey," said Sutton, "that tree didn't 
fall there — it was cut down!" 

"Somebody's trying to delay ..." 
began Lanier, stepping from the run- 
ning board. That was as far as he got. 

A sharp rifle shot rang out, and Sut- 
ton pitched down on his face. He didn't 
move a muscle after he hit the ground. 
But Lanier was greased lightning. He'd 
seen the movement in the brush atop a 
small hill at the side of the road ahead. 
He whipped his rifle up and fired. 

A scream came from the hill and a 
uniformed figure lurched into view, 
teetered on the edge, then tumbled 
down, head over heels. 

Lanier knelt beside Sutton, turned 
him over. Then he got slowly to his 
feet. 

He walked over to where the man 
he had shot lay inert. 

"Iverly!" he said. "The trade isn't 
very even. A skunk for a man. There'll 
be a little evening up later." 

I_TE went back to the car, set to work 
on the tree blocking the road. He 


could move it only a few feet, but cast- 
ing a critical glance at the hole he had 
made, and the ditch beside the road, he 
climbed back into the car. 

He drove the car through the gap, 
ignoring the branch that dented the 
top and tore a fender loose. Then, 
without stopping, he drove on into the 
gathering dusk. 

He drove all night, making slow time 
because of the dark, the half-ruined 
road, and unexpected obstacles. But 
with sun-up, he was perhaps twenty 
miles from Pittsburgh. 

It had obviously rained in this region, 
and as he passed through a low area, 
he reached a stretch where the road 
was covered with mud from a creek 
that had overflowed its banks. Through 
the mud were the unmistakable tire 
tracks of a car. They looked as though 
they had been made less than twenty- 
four hours before. 

It was a half-hour later when he saw 
the car, its wheels still muddy, stand- 
ing beside the road, apparently aban- 
doned. 

Lanier stopped, got out, and walked 
around it. He saw footprints instantly, 
and he stiffened as he saw the tiny 
heelprints of a woman's shoe. 

"Fleurette!" he burst out. "I'm on 
the right track ! " 

He looked at the car. 

"But why did they abandon it? Out 
of gas?" 

He looked into the tank. It was half- 
full. He cast a sharp glance around, 
then followed the footprints, which led 
up the hill at the side of the road and 
went off into the countryside. 

He cocked his rifle and followed, a 
grim expression on his face. The sun 
was beating over the trees now, and 
the birds were awakening. The air was 
fresh and Invigorating, but off to the 
west a cloud bank was looming, and as 
he walked along, the wind changed. 


42 


AMAZING STORIES 


Abruptly it grew colder. He shivered, 
walked on faster. 

Then he saw the resort building. It 
was a magnificent summer home, and 
obviously the sort of place that would 
appeal to Matt Welch. 

Lanier changed his course. He went 
through the forest, his steps making no 
noise in the wet leaves that lay every- 
where. He went around to the back 
of the summer home. 

There was no sound. 

Lanier advanced cautiously, came up 
onto the rear porch. He peered into 
a window, but saw nothing. He tried 
the door. It was ajar. He entered. 
Inside, the house was as silent as out- 
side. There seemed no life. Had Matt 
Welch and Fleurette gone? 

He stepped into the front room. 
Then he stood stock still. 

Stretched out on the floor, his blood 
staining the carpet, was Matt Welch. 
In his back was the haft of a nickle- 
plated envelope knife fashioned in the 
design of a cavalry sword. 

'T'HEN the prone man stirred, 
groaned, tried convulsively to roll 
over. 

Lanier leaped forward. He turned 
the dying man over, and met the agon- 
ized eyes of the king of New America. 

"Hello, Lan-ier," gasped Welch. 
"You got here — a little — la — late." 

"What do you mean? Where's Fleu- 
rette?" 

Lanier's face was savage. He felt 
no pity for the man before him. 

Welch gritted his teeth in pain. 

"Gone — out in the forest — to — to 
die!" he gasped out. "That's what 
she said, any — anyway. The damned 
wench stabbed me in the back as soon 
as the preacher went ..." 

"Preacher?" 

Welch grinned through his agony. 
"Sure . . . Yeah— smart guy, we was 


mar — married last light. She's the — 
new queen of New — America. I 
thought she — was on the — the level! 
When I kissed her, she stabbed me. She 
was only — stringing me. Just — wanted 
to get away from — from you ..." 

Lanier paled. 

"From me?" 

"Yeah. Said she loved you, but she 
knew she was ..." Welch coughed 
bloody foam, and his voice grew un- 
intelligible for a few seconds. Then 
he went on, obviously realizing he 
hadn't been understood, repeating: 
"She knew she — was dying — like a 
plant, or a— flower. Yeah, a flower— 
and damn, she's got th — thorns too. 
Stuck that knife — into me like a 
major." 

His eyes were glazing over. 

"Didn't want to make you sad — she 
said — so she came away — with me. 
Knew she'd die — anyway. I was a — 
a sucker . . . fall guy!" 

With a supreme effort Matt Welch 
reeled to his feet, stood swaying, his 
unseeing eyes trying to find Lanier. 
He laughed rackingly. 

"Fall guy — Matt Welch— emperor 
—fall gu . . . " 

His big body crashed to the floor. 
He was dead. 

Lamer stood with a strange exultance 
on his face. 

"She loves me! " he exclaimed. "She 
said she loved me!" 

He looked down at the body of Matt 
Welch, then strode from the room. Out- 
side a bitter blast of cold wind bit into 
his marrow as he stepped off the porch. 
He ignored it, sought for the tell-tale 
heelprints that would tell him where 
Fleurette had gone. He found them. 

They led further up into the hills. 
Lanier followed. And as he walked, his 
pace quickened. 

Once he glanced at his hand, saw that 
his skin was turning a deep green. He 


THE TEST TUBE GIRL 


43 


grunted, then pushed on, watching for 
the heelprints that would keep him on 
the right track. 

It began to snow, and a queer chill 
crept up his spine. 

"When the snow falls, she will die!" 

The words rang through his brain 
like the knell of doom. He quickened 
his pace. 

"I've got to reach her before — " He 
didn't finish the sentence. 

A VAGUE wonder crept into his 
mind as he plunged on tirelessly 
through the gathering storm. He wasn't 
tiring. He felt stronger than he had 
before. The thought of Fleurette in 
this storm, failing, dying, spurred him 
on. And too, she was more plant-like 
than he. His still-predominant human 
heredity would naturally carry him fur- 
ther into the winter. 

Then, in the snow before him, he saw 
her footprints! They were only a few 
minutes old, obviously, since the snow 
had been there only a few minutes. The 
way led up a steep hill now, and Lanier 
urged himself forward, his panting 
iungs taking in great draughts of the 
cold mountain air. 

Through the snow ahead he saw a 
dark form standing against the sky. 
And a pealing, girlish, happy laugh 
floated down to him. She was laugh- 
ing! She was there, standing erect in 
the snowstorm, laughing! 

"Fleurette!" he shouted. "Fleurette! 
I'm coming!" 

He climbed up the few remaining 
feet to her, and stopped before her, 
staring in amazement. 

She was more beautiful than he had 
ever seen her before. Her hair was 
almost blue-black, and tumbled over 
her shoulders in a cascade of loveliness. 
Her face was wet with snow, but shin- 
ing with a fresh green color, deeper 
than he had ever seen it before. Her 


eyes were bright green, and radiant. 

"Harland!" she exclaimed, laughing 
joyously. 

She threw her arms around his neck 
and her lips met his, pressed tight. They 
were warm and soft, and they clung 
passionately. 

"Fleurette, my darling," he said ten- 
derly when she stopped kissing him and 
looked up at him with sparkling eyes. 

"I thought I wouldn't reach you in 
time," he said tenderly. "I found Matt 
Welch, and he said you'd come up here 
to die. I'm ..." 

She stopped him, staring at his face. 

"What have you done to yourself?" 
she asked wonderingly. "Your face. 
It's green like mine!" 

"I made myself like you," he said. 
"That night on the balcony when you 
didn't respond to my proposal — when 
your kiss was so cold, I thought it was 
because I wasn't like you that you 
didn't respond. So I took the chloro- 
blood treatment. Then Allan told me 
the truth: that you were truly a plant, 
a flower, and that you would die when 
the snow came. ..." 

"And you made yourseH like me, 
knowing that. ..." 

"It's all right," he hastened on. "I 
didn't want to live on without you. 
Now we can both die together. We 
have a few hours of happiness remain- 
ing to us — " 

She laughed in his face. 

"A few hours ! Oh you silly boy. You 
lovable, brave, silly boy!" 

He was bewildered. But he took her 
in his arms and held her close. 

"It's all right," he said comfortingly. 
"At least we will have had that. Life 
hasn't cheated us altogether. Man has 
perished from Earth, but perhaps some- 
day, somewhere, he will appear again. 
And maybe then we'll meet. . . ." 

She struggled to free her head from 
(Concluded on page 33) 


Somerset leaped into a tree with Marge Ann under his arm 

44 



WHEN that son of a Cossack, 
Ivan Sakanoff, and pretty 
Marge Ann drove up in front 
of our house in Ivan's new auto, I was 
on the porch watching Somerset, my 
pet monkey, make love to a rag doll. 
As far as I know, Somerset was the 
only monkey in the world that made 
love to a rag doll. He crushed the thing 
to his brown little body and murmured 
sweetly, "Yeek! Yeek! Yeek! Yeek!" 

Ivan honked the horn of his auto and 
motioned me over. I left the porch and 
shuffled toward them. 

"Hullo, Marge Ann. Hullo, Ivan," 
I muttered. I wondered what it was he 
wanted. If he didn't have that white, 


scared look on his usually smug puss, 
I'd think that he just wanted to show 
off his new car and make me envious 
that Marge Ann rode with him. I was 
awful in love with Marge Ann and Ivan 
knew it. She was the prettiest and 
snootiest girl in town, and I am always 
the slave of pretty and snooty girls. 

"Horace," Ivan almost whispered, 
"tell your father that my dad has in- 
vented something important he wants 
to show him. Something dangerous, 
maybe, I dunno. He's been acting funny 
lately. Mysterious. Won't let anyone 
into his laboratory — Hurry, and I'll 
drive you over." 

"All right, Ivan," I said. "Be with 


46 


AMAZING STORIES 


you in a minute." 

I turned and headed straight toward 
father's basement laboratory. Somerset 
skipped along at my heels, dragging his 
doll after him. 

As I stumbled down the basement 
steps, father raised his round, pale face 
toward me. He had a dreamy look in 
his gray eyes so I knew right off that 
he'd been puttering with an invention 
of his own. Father was an inventor, 
just like Sakanoff, and the two were al- 
ways trying to outdo each other in in- 
venting ridiculous gadgets. They were 
both maybe the greatest impractical in- 
ventors in the whole world. 

"Oh, it's you, Horace," father mur- 
mured slowly. 

I was a little surprised. Usually 
when father has that hazy expression he 
doesn't know me from Geronimo. It 
could be Geronimo, that blood thirsty 
Indian, walking around the house and 
father wouldn't know it. 

"Yeah," I agreed, "It's me. And I 
bear a message — " 

"Horace," father broke in, "did you 
ever stop to realize that time is only 
a product of motion? That there could 
be no such thing as time unless there 
was motion?' 

I am accustomed to having such 
things thrown at me by father. There- 
fore, I did not gape or even gasp. I 
bit my lip and said quietly, "Fine. 
Wonderful even. But — 

Father turned from me and pointed 
proudly to something big and white that 
stood in a corner. 

"That," he exclaimed in a rising 
voice, "is my Motion Master! Within 
it I am able to speed up enormously 
the passage of time!" 

"You won't!" I gurgled. "I mean — 
you can't. It isn't. Ah — that's our 
old refrigerator ! " 

Father continued: "I repeat, only 
■within the Motion Master am I able to 


hurry time along. Simply put, the ac- 
celeration of the normal passage of time 
is achieved through the speeding up of 
natural processes, which, in turn, is 
achieved by the intricate exercise of 
motion. Kind of like putting the cart 
before the horse. Understand?" 

I counted to ten. After all, I calmed 
myself, there were some fellows who'd 
be proud to have their dad an inventor, 
even if he did seem a little off at times. 
Uh huh. Sure. I ought to be glad. 

"You deserve a medal," I said quiet- 
ly. "Anyway, Sakanoff wants to show 
you something he's stuck together. He's 
been working on it in secret. Ivan 
looks scared. Thinks it might be dan- 
gerous." 

Father said, "Phooey." 

A MINUTE or so later, father, my- 
self and Somerset, climbed into the 
rear of Ivan's auto. I didn't know it 
then, but I was to bitterly regret having 
taken Somerset with me. Finally, we 
pulled to the curb in front of Sakanoff's 
place. The one time Cossack was wait- 
ing for us in his garage laboratory, his 
dark, heavy face gloating. In fact, 
every inch of his tall, powerful body 
seemed to be gloating. His thick lips 
twisted in a sneer and he said, "Ah, 
Wilbury and son!" His beady eyes 
caught mine. "Horace, you're looking 
more like your old man every day," he 
added, smirking. 

Just then Somerset flung his eighteen 
inch length to the top of a very peculiar 
looking clothes locker and hugged his 
doll enthusiastically. He chattered 
something and Marge Ann giggled at 
him sweetly. 

"Sakanoff!" father squeaked roughly 
as he could, "You've disturbed me dur- 
ing a very important experiment. I 
wish you would cease annoying me with 
your quite useless inventions! I have 
better things to do than — " 


SOMERSET. THE SCIENTIFIC MONKEY 


47 


Sakanoff rubbed his hands together 
and chuckled very unpleasantly. Not 
many people can chuckle as unpleasant- 
ly as Sakanoff. 

"Wilbury," he addressed father, "my 
day of revenge has arrived. My inven- 
tion will amaze the scientific world. I 
have achieved in fact what others, lesser 
men, have only dreamed of!" 

"Go on, go on," father mumbled as 
the other hesitated. Father's pale face 
had become tinged with red. I guess he 
was bursting to tell Sakanoff about his 
Motion Master thing. 

Sakanoff pointed to the strange look- 
ing clothes locker, atop which Somerset 
perched with the doll. "This is half of 
the machine," he said, "and that's the 
other half." He indicated an identical 
locker standing some yards away. 

"It doesn't look like anything to me," 
Marge Ann murmured in a puzzled tone 
of voice. 

CAKANOFF'S dark face twisted into 

a mass of frowns. He turned to- 
ward Marge Ann, snapping, "Don't you 
know that the true scientist never gives 
up his work for lack of proper instru- 
ments? If need be, he makes his tools 
out-of the simplest materials at hand. 
Thus, I was able to construct this with 
the aid of the lockers — " 

Father broke in impatiently, "What 
does the thing do — if anything?" 

Sakanoff turned back to father. 

"I haven't tested it as yet," he re- 
plied stiffly, "I waited for you — My 
invention will enable a man to exchange 
his own intellect for that of another 
man. It works on the theory that brain 
power is like electric power, that 
thought is the release of this stored 
power. What my machine does is to 
transfer the entire stored brain power 
from one mind to another mind, and 
vice versa. Understand, little man?" 

Father reddened. "Of course I do!" 


he said shrilly. "I worked along the 
same lines myself once — But I've yet 
to see if your machine will work ! " 

Sakanoff ran his right hand over his 
bald head thoughtfully. His cold, black 
eyes ran up and down father's chubby 
body, flickered to father's pale peanut 
nose and to his white curly hair. 

"I mean to test it now," he growled. 
"And I suggest that you and I exchange 
intellects, Wilbury, just for the duration 
of the experiment." He smirked. "Un- 
less you're afraid — ?" 

Father raised his white head proudly. 
"I'm not afraid," he said. "Let's get 
this over with. I doubt if it will work — " 

Sakanoff shrugged his burly shoulders 
and snickered, "You'll find out. Get 
inside one of the lockers. I'll get in the 
other." 

Father wriggled into the small space 
of a locker and Sakanoff slammed shut 
the metal door. He turned to Ivan and 
mumbled some brief instructions. Then 
he shuffled toward the second locker, 
the one atop which Somerset spooned 
with the rag doll. Suddenly, he stopped. 
A peculiar gleam came into his eyes. A 
very peculiar gleam. In fact, I didn't 
like it. He glanced up toward Somerset, 
then flashed a look in the direction of 
the locker into which father had dis- 
appeared. 

That quick look told me what he had 
in mind. My heart did a jig. "Hey, 
better not," I choked. "In fact, don't!" 

Sakanoff paid me no attention. He 
reached up with his muscular right arm, 
snatched Somerset from the top of the 
locker and shoved him inside! Bang- 
ing shut the door, he sprang to the con- 
trols of the machine and pulled several 
fevers. The hum of an electric motor 
filled the garage laboratory. 

"You shouldn't have done that, 
Sakanoff," I reproached weakly, "now 
what's going to happen?" 

The former Cossack chuckled un- 


48 


AMAZING STORIES 


pleasantly ! 

TV/TARGE ANN turned to Ivan and 
murmured, "You men are so silly. 
Will you drive me home, Ivan? Huh?" 

"Sure, Marge Ann. In a minute . . ." 
he whispered. Ivan was staring at the 
lockers as I was. What was happening 
inside them? Sakanoff had his eyes 
glued to a small gauge. 

"You shouldn't have done that," I 
muttered uneasily for the second time. 

The seconds crawled and finally two 
minutes had passed. Sakanoff pushed 
the levers back and the electric motor 
hushed. He was breathing quickly. 
Then he moved toward the locker into 
which father had wriggled. I leaned 
forward tensely. Ivan's mouth dropped 
open. Even Marge Ann was awed. 
Sakanoff yanked open the locker door, 
exposing father. 

"Pop ! " I choked. "Are you all right? 
D'you feel like yourself?" 

Father bounded from the locker with 
amazing agility. 

"Ah . . . !" Sakanoff exclaimed 
triumphantly. 

Father said, "Yeek! Yeek! Yeek! 
Yeek!" 

CAKANOFF laughed harshly, "It 
worked, just the way I thought it 
would! Now Wilbury has Somerset's 
intellect. I'd say it was an improve- 
ment!" Then Sakanoff ran his right 
hand over his shiny pate thoughtfully 
and said, "No doubt, Wilbury now be- 
lieves he is Somerset ... On second 
thought, it is Somerset in Wilbury's 
body!" 

As though to confirm Sakanoff's 
words, father — Somerset — bent and 
scooped up the tattered doll, which had 
fallen to the floor, and hugged it to 
him! I didn't need more proof. 

"Ye Gads!" I croaked. "Open the 
other locker!" Sakanoff did. The 


monkey skipped out, looked up at us 
with a puzzled expression. Sakanoff 
grinned down at the little brown body. 

"Hello, Wilbury!" he smirked. "Do 
you agree now that my invention is a 
success?" 

The tiny figure of Somerset shook a 
clenched fist at the inventor, muttered 
something that sounded like, "You big 
bum!" I repeat, it just sounded like 
that. Father may have been trying to 
say something else. In any case, I'd 
had enough of this monkey business — 

I stepped forward, putting myself in 
front of Sakanoff. 

"Listen, you Cossack!" I barked. 
"What you've done is to put Somerset 
in my father's body and father in 
Somerset's body. Now you better 
straighten things out before .something 
happens — " 

Something happened! Marge Ann 
screamed! 

Sakanoff muttered, "What the hell 
— ?" and spun around quickly. So did 
Ivan. So did I. Then my jaw dropped 
open and Ivan yelped something un- 
intelligible. 

Somerset, in father's body, had 
dropped the rag doll and was enthusi- 
astically hugging Marge Ann! 

"Ye Gads!" I gasped. "He thinks 
Marge Ann is a dolll" 

Ivan grabbed hold of Marge Ann's 
pretty right leg and began to pull. 
Somerset jerked away, turned quickly, 
and with Marge Ann clutched tightly 
to his chest sped out of the garage 
laboratory. 

"Hey!" I yelped. "Stop that. Cut 
it out. Come back here!" Father- 
Somerset — ignored me. Somerset 
seemed to like his new doll and he didn't 
want anyone to take it away. I lit out 
after him and bumped into Sheriff Ab- 
bott who was just entering. Sheriff 
Abbott had a long skinny body, a long 
face and a long nose. He wasn't much 


SOMERSET, THE SCIENTIFIC MONKEY 


49 


to look at. If he didn't wear a star, a 
person would think he was a soda jerk 
in Thatcher's drug store. 

"What's going on here?" he grunted 
puzzledly. "I was driving by. Who 
screamed?" 

By this time, Somerset was half a 
block down Elmhurst Avenue, heading 
in the direction of Snobble Woods. 
Somerset often liked to spend a day in 
Snobble Woods, playfully springing 
around among the trees . . . 

"We got to catch Somerset!" Ivan 
chattered excitedly. "He's got Marge 
Ann! See?" he pointed. 

Abbott twisted around and glared 
down Elmhurst Avenue. His thick eye- 
brows raised up, his mouth fell open 
and he hollered, "Wilbury, stop that! 
Come back here!" 

Ivan tapped Abbott on a boney 
shoulder. "Please, sheriff, that's not 
Wilbury—" 

Abbott whirled around. "Not Wil- 
bury?" he shrieked. "You're crazy! 
I know Wilbury when I see him! " 

I thought, a fine job we'd have ex- 
plaining it all to him. I'd better take 
things into my own hands — I dodged 
past the sheriff and continued to chase 
after Somerset. Marge Ann was scream- 
ing pretty steadily now, and the whole 
town was coming outdoors to investigate 
the trouble. 

"It's Wilbury!" some big guy bel- 
lowed. "He's gone crazy and he's got 
a girl!" 

"Stop him!" an old woman shouted 
shrilly. "Stop him! He's murdering 
her!" 

"Somebody shoot him!" another 
voice put in. 

I bent over, expecting a shotgun 
' blast any second. 

"Ummmmph!" Some big lug plowed 
into me, grabbed my throat. In a second 
I was flat on my back with this bruiser 
perching on my chest. "Ahhh!" he 


crowed. "Got you!" 

I lifted my head weakly and gazed 
after Somerset. He'd reached the edge 
of Snobble Woods with Marge Ann and 
was scaling up a tree. I knew that in 
a second he'd be going further into the 
woods, swinging from branch to branch. 
Maybe he'd break his neck. But it was 
too late to stop him now. It would take 
an organized search to find him. 

lV/rEANWHILE, the hefty individual 
on my chest decided to wring my 
neck. Maybe he thought there was a 
reward out for me, dead or alive. In 
any case, it required almost a minute, 
between gags, to convince him that he 
was slaughtering an innocent man. Dis- 
appointed, he removed himself from 
me, and I got to my feet. 

Sheriff Abbott came striding up, fol- 
lowed by a big crowd. I tried to dis- 
appear but Abbott put a boney hand on 
my shoulder, raised one eyebrow and 
glared at me. 

"Horace," he grunted. "Your father 
has done a dastardly thing. But per- 
haps he's lost his mind. When did he 
first show queer symptoms?" 

I bit my lip and said quietly, "Sheriff, 
believe me, father is not insane. All 
this is just the unfortunate result of an 
experiment. What you believe to be 
father is really a monkey — " 

The way Sheriff Abbott's eyes hard- 
ened then softened, I knew I'd have 
done better to shut up. He thought I 
was nutty, too. He smiled slightly, 
showing buck teeth, and said, "Horace, 
my boy, why don't you go home and 
rest a bit, eh?" 

Just then a little fat man elbowed his 
way to the front of the crowd. He 
planted himself in front of Abbott and 
said hoarsely, "Sheriff, the people of 
Snobble Town demand action! Some- 
thing must be done— and quickly— to 
rescue that girl from a madman! Her 


50 


AMAZING STORIES 


fate is your responsibility!" 

Abbott swayed slightly under the 
verbal blitz and for a bad moment I 
thought he was going to faint. But he 
pulled through. 

"Ah, yes . . . action!" he murmured. 
"Shooting ... and things like that." 
He straightened suddenly and threw out 
his pigeon chest. He faced the crowd. 

"The law will handle this!" he 
growled a little weakly. "You men 
who want to join a posse step forward! 
We'll search the woods before Wilbury 
gets too far with Marge Ann. I'll give 
rifles to the men that don't own one!" 

Rifles! Shooting! It had come to 
this! I staggered forward, choking, 
"No! You mustn't! You'll kill him!" 

"We've got to save the girl, men!" 
a rough voice bellowed. "I'm going 
home to get my gun." 

Sheriff Abbott put his hand to my 
shoulder again and looked down into my 
eyes. He was sorry for me. 

"He'll come back by himself! He'll 
come back by himself!" I chattered. 
"He always does! Don't — " 

Abbott shook his head slowly and 
said softly, "After all, Horace, we've 
got to consider Marge Ann . . ." He 
turned from me and muttered to the 
men who had volunteered for the posse, 
"All right. Come to my office, I'll 
swear you in." 

As the crowd began to disperse, I 
sniffled a moment, then cried, "But you 
don't understand ! You've got to believe 
me! You've got to listen — " A tear 
dribbled down my nose. No one cared 
to listen any longer. But once they 
caught up with Somerset in father's 
body they'd shoot. Kill him, most 
likely. And then poor father would be 
doomed to end his days in the body oj 
a monkey! 

T WIPED the dust from my trousers 
and started slowly back up Elm- 


hurst Avenue. Things were black. No 
doubt about that. Black. In a few 
minutes the posse would be taking to 
the woods after Somerset — Somerset in 
father's body, that is — and father would 
be destined to remain in Somerset's 
body if his own were killed. He would 
never get over it. And mother wouldn't 
like it either. Father existing in the 
shape of a monkey! 

"Maybe Sakanoff can do something 
about this," I muttered hopefully. "It's 
all his fault anyway 1" 

A few more steps brought me to 
Sakanoff's house and I turned into the 
yard and entered the small brick bunga- 
low. Sakanoff was sprawled in an arm- 
chair, a half emptied bottle of vodka 
or something resting on a table beside 
him. He gazed up at me through bleary 
eyes and I knew where the other half 
had gone. 

"Hor-ish," he invited, "sit down and 
have a little of thish good stuff. Every- 
shing is gonna be shwell!" 

I couldn't expect any help from him, 
that was clear. I guess my shoulders 
drooped as I left Sakanoff's place and 
headed for my own home. Some dis- 
tance away the posse was making for 
Snobble Woods. From the distance it 
seemed to me that one of the men was 
fashioning a noose, I couldn't be sure. 
I didn't want to be sure. 

By the time I shuffled into the Wil- 
bury homestead I was shuddering and 
trying desperately hard to think. I had 
to do something. But what? There 
had to be something I could do to save 
father's body! 

I entered father's study, sat myself 
at his desk and held my head in thought. 
"Come, Brain, perform!" I begged. But 
after a while I decided it was no use. 
I was beaten. I started to get up from 
the desk and all of a sudden two words 
in front of a jumble of other words 
written on some sheets of paper, swam 


SOMERSET, THE SCIENTIFIC MONKEY 


51 


into my vision. The two words were: 
Motion Master. 

Obviously, father had written some 
notes pertaining to his latest invention 
and left them here on his desk. I didn't 
have anything else to do so I lifted a 
sheet and read a little further: 

"The acceleration of time is achieved 
by the speeding up of natural processes. 
Natural processes can be hurried by the 
correct use of motion, as in my Motion 
Master. This machine, then, accomp- 
lishes the aging of years in minutes!" 

It was stuff typical of father. Silly — 
to believe that a machine could actually 
age an object years in just minutes. 
A dually make it older. Naw, I couldn't 
believe that. If I did, I'd not only be 
looking more like father every day, as 
Sakanoff had smirkingly remarked, but 
I'd be thinking like him. 

Looking more like father every day ! 
Was it true? If it was, then in about 
thirty years or so I'd be almost an 
exact image of father today. In thirty 
years ... A peculiar idea tickled my 
brain: if the Motion Master worked as 
father claimed it would, then it could 
make me older in a very short while ! 

I sat straight as an idea formed — 
There was a way to save father! 

"You've got to do it, Horace," I told 
myself. 

T LEFT the study and hurried to 
father's laboratory. The Motion 
Master stood alone in a corner. Now 
that I saw it closely it bore only a faint 
resemblance to a mechanical ice box. 
Gadgets and springs seemed to sprout 
from every corner of the thing. Springs 
and more springs, as though father had 
taken apart a thousand clocks and fitted 
it all to the inside of his machine. 

A dial with a knob in the center gave 
instructions — Each full turn of the 
knob was equal to a year. Carefully, 
I turned it thirty times. This would 


bring me to about father's age — if the 
machine worked! Then, mumbling a 
short prayer, I crawled inside. The 
springs pressed against me, massaging. 
I started to get dizzy. Things were go- 
ing around in circles — or maybe I was. 
Then after a while I felt that I was the 
sun, and revolving around me were a 
lot of little planets. It was a silly way 
to feel. I kept looking down at the 
little planets and thinking how impor- 
tant I was — 

When I came to, the springs had run 
out and were motionless. I tumbled out 
of the Motion Master and hurried to 
examine myself in a full length mirror 
that stood in the hall — I blinked my 
eyes. I had become chubby. I had 
curly white hair. My nose looked like 
a peanut. My face was round and 
mild. 

"Ye Gads!" I yelped. 
I looked so much like father, that I'd 
fool even myself! 

TpHE Motion Master did work. 

But I had more to do than stand 
and gape, and not much time to do it 
in. The posse might even now be clos- 
ing in on Somerset, ready to shoot, 
since they believed it meant saving 
Marge Ann — 

It took me about ninety seconds to 
change into father's blue suit, and then 
I was hurrying as fast as I could to 
Snobble Woods. It was getting on to- 
ward evening now. I listened for gun- 
fire. 

Ten minutes later I could hear men 
calling to each other. Excitedly, as 
they crashed through the thick brush. 
Well, I knew Snobble Woods better 
than they. A short cut along an old 
path brought me ahead of the possemen 
and the sheriff. Then I leaned non- 
chalantly against a tree and waited for 
them to catch up. 

Sheriff Abbott was the first one to 


52 


AMAZING STORIES 


see me. His long jaw dropped open 
and he jerked his rifle up. He gagged a 
moment, then choked out, "Put up your 
hands, Wilbury!" His own hands 
shook like a leaf in a gale. The posse- 
men bunched together around Abbott, 
staring at me scared-like. 

"Good evening, gentlemen," I said, 
in father's best manner. "Is something 
wrong?" 

They gaped a moment, then a pug- 
nosed gent warned, "Careful, men ! He's 
treacherous! All madmen are." 

"Let's shoot him," someone sug- 
gested. 

"And ask questions later," a quaking 
little man added. 

Sheriff Abbott knocked down a 
leveled rifle barrel, and I breathed 
easier. I decided then that when I 
reached twenty-one, I'd vote to re-elect 
Abbott. He wasn't a bad sort even if 
he didn't look like much. "The law 
will handle this!" he growled weakly. 

He took a few short steps toward me 
and I wondered what he was up to. 
Then before I knew what was happen- 
ing, he'd snapped handcuffs over my 
wrists. That was all right with .me. I 
had fooled them into thinking I was 
father and that was enough. 

"Where's Marge Ann?" the pug-nose 
gent hollered suddenly. It seemed as 
though they'd forgotten about her for 
the moment. 

"She went that way," I replied 
quietly, and pointed toward town. "I'm 
going that way myself," I added, 
"would you like to come along?" 

A dozen of the possemen surrounded 
me and we started back to town, arriv- 
ing just as the skies were turning dark. 
Among the crowd that met us was 
Sakanoff, bleary-eyed and clutching a 
bottle of vodka. When he saw me, he 
shook his head and staggered up to 
Sheriff Abbott. No doubt, he thought 
I was Somerset. 


"Thish ish all my fault, your honor," 
he mumbled. "It wush my experiment. 
I know how to make Wilbury regain 
hish senses. Bring'im to my lab — 
laboratory. Everyshing will be shwell 

ji 

Sheriff Abbott looked at him doubt- 
fully. 

"Pleash, your honor," Sakanoff 
begged. 

Abbott scratched his long nose 
thoughtfully and grunted, "All right, 
Sakanoff! I don't know what you have 
in your mind, but don't try to get away 
with anything — " 

Maybe Abbott didn't know what 
Sakanoff had in mind, but I did. And 
I didn't like it. Sakanoff still thought 
that I was Somerset — Somerset in 
father's body. Therefore, he wanted 
to undo his experiment — Which would 
be fine, only I wasn't Somerset. If 
Sakanoff had his way — 7, instead of 
father, would be in Somerset's monkey 
body. Father would think he'd regained 
his own body, whereas he'd be dwelling 
in mine — aged by the Motion Master. 
He wouldn't know the difference — 
maybe. 

In any case, I knew one think: I had 
to get away — and fast ! For the moment, 
no one was watching me. I whirled 
around, bent over and started to run 
like hell. 

"Yeeooow! Stop him!" Sheriff Ab- 
bott screeched. But I had a good start. 
I scooted for home as fast as I could, 
the sheriff and the possemen half a 
block behind. Home seemed the safest 
place. 

I skidded around a corner and banged 
into — Marge Ann! 

"Oooohhh!" she gasped, staggering 
back. 

"Excuse me," I murmured, full of 
confusion, and kept my legs moving 
the remaining distance home. Then I 
jerked to a halt — Curled up on the 


SOMERSET, THE SCIENTIFIC MONKEY 


53 


porch like a kitten, obviously asleep, 
was Somerset! Somerset in father's 
body, of course. He'd come home! 

r jp H E possemen came stamping 
around the corner, but before any 
one caught sight of me I dodged behind 
a wooden fence. Then men saw Somer- 
set curled up on the porch. 

"Close in, men!" the sheriff rasped. 
He had his rifle aimed. The men took 
cautious steps forward. Several held 
ropes ready for tying. Somerset slept 
on. The possemen took several more 
steps. 

"Careful!" someone warned. "He's 
only fooling. If he attacks, shoot to 
kill!" 

Then the pug-nosed gent tossed a 
noose around father's — Somerset's — 
head. The rope tightened. Somerset 
slept on. 

Sakanoff, still happy with vodka, 


reeled up to the porch. 

"We've got him!" he crowed. "Now 
lesh get him ober to my lab — labora- 
tory. Everyshing is gonna be fixshed 
up!" 

The possemen raised Somerset, still 
snoozing, off the porch and lugged him 
toward Sakanoff's laboratory. And 
there, as it happened, Sakanoff "fixshed 
everyshing up." Father's intellect was 
transferred back to his own body and 
Somerset became a monkey once more. 

Oh, yes. Father is now hard at work 
on an invention that will reverse the 
effect of time or something. Make 
things grow younger, maybe. And I 
hope he succeeds, cause looking the 
way I do, Marge Ann won't have any- 
thing to do with me. Not only that, 
but I had to learn how to shave, and 
that gets tiresome after awhile. My 
jaws used to be hairless. 


THE TEST TUBE GIRL 

( Concluded from page 43 ) 


his shoulder, tossed it back, and looked 
up at his face with eyes that sparkled 
with life. 

"Will you listen to me!" she ex- 
claimed. "Harland Lanier, did you ever 
hear of a perennial?" 

"Perennial?" He stared at her. 

"Yes. Can't you understand. We 
are plants. As much plant as human. 
But we aren't going to die. We just 
change with the seasons. Look, even 
now, your hair is turning from the 
autumn colors to black. There's not a 
gray hair on your head. And if you 
think you aren't strong — I have some 
bruised ribs to prove it!" 

He looked into her eyes with incre- 
dulity that gradually changed to belief. 

"You're right!" he gasped. "You are 


perennial! You're as healthy and alive 
and vibrant and fresh as a young fir 
tree! You're not a flower any more; 
you're a fir tree!" 

"Yes," she said. "And the whole 
world, and a lifetime is ahead of us. 
And maybe the race of lovely plant- 
humans we'll start will know how to use 
this lovely world better than humans 
have used it in the past." 

Harland Lanier looked up into the 
falling snow, and he let it pelt against 
his face. 

He laughed aloud out of sheer joy. 

"Turn your face up," he said. "That 
snow feels so good, and clean, and 
fresh!" 

Then they stood, arm in arm, laugh- 
ing up at the snow. 



Why was Mickey so out of place in this world? 
Why couldn't he receive thoughts like others? 


THE door of the local closed, and 
complicated circuits, dispensing 
with the need for a pilot, again 
assumed the calculations and control 
which would take the little airbus 
through a long smooth arc to its next 
stop. 

Within, seven large-headed, totally 
bald and quite skinny passengers of 
both sexes sat quietly, each most po- 
litely walling his or her thoughts. As 
the airbus reached a certain point on 
its descending arc, however, the walls 
began to break down. 

"Whew!" mentally exclaimed one of 
the passengers to his companion, a very 


Mickey hurled his thoughts desper- 
ately. Would Marfa receive — and 
rescue him from this soft-voiced 


old woman and his mother. "Did you 
get that?" 

"No. What was it, son?" she said 
curiously. 

These two were both citizens of the 
second class, but age had dulled the 



56 


AMAZING STORIES 


once-keen sensitivity of the woman, and 
for faint waves, now, she had to rely 
on the capacity of others. 

"It's that young imbecile, Mickey," 
he thought to her, beaming the words 
so that the others in the car would not 
overcatch. 

"What?" 

"It's Mickey, the imbecile," the son 
repeated with more intensity. "He's 
somewhere ahead, talking to the girl 
Marta." 

"What about?" asked the old woman. 
"Love, as usual?" 

"Yes, love as usual," answered the 
other shaking his head, half annoyed 
and half amused. "The State really 
should do something about that primi- 
tive. His thoughts would stop an as- 
teroid! Love! Love! A million amps 
of emotion, at ten million volts! Is 
it not absurd? An imbecile falls in 
love, and behold, the whole country- 
side has willy-nilly to resonate with 
him!" 

The man exaggerated a little, for citi- 
zens of the first and second classes and, 
to a lesser degree, the third, could, 
with a little effort, wall out even Mick- 
ey's thoughts — but he did not exagger- 
ate the power of those thoughts. They 
were even penetrating the walls of the 
bus. 

The man's mother brought him back 
from the general to the particular — 
as women in all ages are wont to do. 

"Details" she demanded. "Just what 
is he thinking?" 

"Saying," her son gently corrected. 
"Our citizens of the fifth class can 
hardly be said to speak together, much 
less think together. What is now going 
on in his head is very powerful, but 
not very interesting, I am afraid, Moth- 
er. It seems he loves her. He loves 
her very much. He says he will ask 
to be taken to the lethal chamber if 
he cannot have her. He even almost 


thinks he means it." 

These two were the only citizens of 
the second class in the bus. All the 
others were of the third. 

The most sensitive of the thirds 
caught Mickey next. 

"Whew!" he too thought, but with 
guard down, so that all in the bus caught 
the exclamation. 

T^TIQUETTE required him to ex- 
plain. 

"It's Mickey, the imbecile Mickey! 
You know — the ward of Taiber, the 
plant geneticist. He's talking to the 
girl Marta, at the next stop. Wait. 
Yes — he's taking this bus. In a min- 
ute he'll be in here with us!" 

"Whew!" mentally exclaimed two 
other passengers. "Whew" was fash- 
ionable that year. 

At that moment the airbus began 
to clear a little ridge, and then every- 
one caught for himself the phenomenal 
Mickey waves. In their presence all 
conventional barriers broke down, and 
a general thoughtversation began in the 
bus. 

"He's going to the City for the fourth 
class test," one of the passengers, who 
had caught that fact, telecast for the 
others. 

"Can you tell me any details, sir?" 
asked the old lady. 

"It's sweet love, madam," was the 
answer. "He wants to marry his Marta. 
But he's fifth class, and she's fourth, 
and the State — " Here the man paused, 
the better to receive. "Yes," he went 
on after a moment, " — the State, I've 
just . overcaught, is one arbitrary, two 
illogical and three cruel. Marriages 
between inferiors should be permitted, 
I learn — even between the fourth and 
fifth classes." 

"But they would be breeding inferior 
children!" objected the old lady. The 
fact was perfectly obvious, and to men- 


MYSTERY OF THE BLUE GOD 


tion it allowed a presumption of senil- 
ity. 

"Love, even with us, is still the ir- 
rational emotion," telecast one philo- 
sophic gentleman who until then had 
maintained complete privacy. "We can 
hardly expect, then, that an imbecile 
at his discharge can be rational under 
it." 

"I get only disconnected phrases," 
one of the less sensitive thirds modestly 
ventured. "Can the gentleman of the 
second class perhaps tell us what they 
are saying?" 

"Yes — details," said the old lady 
looking at her son and speaking, this 
time, aloud. Her son smiled. The eter- 
nal feminine love curiosity, he thought 
— but he kept his thought well walled. 

"I've been getting a fairly clear pat- 
tern," he thought to the receptive com- 
pany. "Mickey aspires to get himself 
reclassified as a fourth, so he can marry 
his Marta. That means he must pass 
the yearly tests. He has already taken 
the first two, and not done badly, eith- 
er; but the all-important practical tele- 
getting test still remains, and now, this 
afternoon in this very airbus, he is to 
go down to the City to take it. I, for 
one wish him luck." 

"So do I," agreed another. "And then 
if the State with great kindness will 
only marry them and send them to some 


isolated planetoid for a year or two, 
to use up their excess of power, then, 
when they return, we might all have 
more peace." 

"Right!" thought another in quick 
agreement. 

"Let's all wish him luck;" thought 
yet another. 

"Details!" spoke the old lady once 
more. She was not to be put off, her 
son saw ; but then, no doubt, the others 
too would like to hear. , As a second- 
classer, the most sensitive receiver in 
the bus, he set himself to teleget the 
actual word-for-word conversation of 
the distant two. 

He smiled at the first thing he caught. 

" £JE IS trying to hide his anxiety by 
teasing her," the man told 
them. He paused a moment, then, with 
a thought wave of another quality, 
meant to carry Mickey's words, he re- 
layed: 

" 'Well, then I guess there's nothing 
left but to be re-conditioned'."* 

"'No'!" This was with another 
quality, meant for Marta. "'You 
wouldn't dare do that to me' ! " 

* Obviously the power to love is a mental one, 
and What Mickey refers to here is an elimination 
of his regard for Marta by some form of hypnosis 
which will cause him to forget her, and to hold 
no regard for her in the future. Even in 1940 
hypnotists considered this possible.— Ed. 



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AMAZING STORIES 


" 'But surely you'd want me freed 
of my misery'," — from Mickey. " 'Just 
think, and try not to be selfish; in five 
minutes all my lovely memories of you 
can be removed, all my torturing 
thoughts erased; and then, and then, 
maybe I'll be fortunate enough to fall 
in love with some other girl, of my own 
class'." 

" 'You're only teasing'." 

" 'There's a very good looking one 
over in Area 72-61. I don't think she 
would have to be urged to go into 
the "courting" machine with me; in 
fact, I don't think she'd need any arti- 
ficial directional stimulation at all 1 ! " 

" 'Sometimes I could cheerfully 
strangle you'!" came Marta's highly 
irrational response to this. 

" "That's a very low thing to say'," 
came from Mickey. " 'It's a good thing 
they don't revise classifications down- 
ward'." 

At this point the man relaying the 
conversation stopped speaking. The 
airbus, toward the end of its long arc, 
was slowly nearing the ground. Ahead, 
alone on the landing stage, were the 
strong figures of the two whose conver- 
sation they had just overcaught. 

The car touched, the door opened. 
Everyone inside caught directly the last 
few words of Marta. 

"Good luck, Mickey! Good luck!" 

The imbecile Mickey, innocent sub- 
ject of kilowatts of chatter, entered and 
found a seat. The car had hardly start- 
ed to rise when a torrent of thought- 
versation burned the air. 

"He stifles me!" 

"I can't hear myself think!" 

"He's making me fall in love with 
Marta!" 

"What an animal! Halfway back 
to the gorilla! Look — he must be near- 
ly two meters tall! And see his hair 
— blond and wavy. It covers the whole 
top of his head!" 


"See his wide shoulders!" 

"Did you catch sight of Marta? The 
same type, feminine version. They're 
a pair, all right." 

"Such stupid conversation, it was, but 
such love behind it!" — this from the 
old lady, whose cerebration was a bit 
behind. 

"It's a good thing he can't catch the 
thoughts here!" came a more remote 
observation. 

"It would be a better thing if he 
could wall his own!" 

Not one of the passengers was wholly 
serious, but the philosophic gentleman 
thought it time for a tactful hint to go 
easy. 

"Are we being quite fair?" he asked 
with a wave of mild tone. "I too call 
this Mickey inferior and ugly, but we 
must not forget that such notions as 
inferiority and ugliness are only rela- 
tive in value. I think there is a high 
probability that this imbecile would 
have been considered both wise and 
handsome at a certain stage in human 
evolution." 

"Oh yes, you're right — but you'd 
have to go pretty far back. Probably 
as far as the twentieth century. As- 
suming his genes lie in the direct line." 

"I rather think they do," was the 
considered reply. "You will observe 
there is no external evidence that the 
man is a freak, nor does he show any 
stigmata of degeneration. His strength 
and proportions, both of body and 
thought, are extremely good — for his 
level." 

"Tentatively, I should agree with 
you," thought the second-classer. "He 
does appear to be one of the few who 
came down through the Age of Mu- 
tations unchanged." 

TPHE thoughtversation went on, in- 
terweaving all around and even 
through its lowly subject, while Mickey 


MYSTERY OF THE BLUE GOD 


59 


sat gloomily, forehead pressed tightly 
against the little window, and wished 
the trip was over. 

He was quite opaque to their indi- 
vidual words, but here, as had happened 
many times before, his woolen percep- 
tions were catching a general feeling 
of what was transpiring, and as always 
it made him shrink up in his old, worn 
feelings of inferiority. 

There was one bright oasis of relief. 
He was not ugly and primitive to 
Marta, the stars be thanked, and he 
could always escape into thoughts of 
her. He was well aware that this es- 
cape created a disturbance round him. 
Usually he felt humble and sorry about 
it, for people were invariably so kind 
and courteous to him— but sometimes 
he did not. There were moments when, 
rebelling at his inescapable nakedness, 
he was glad he had that effect. It was 
some small sign of power, however per- 
verse. 

He almost felt that way now. 

There came the beginning of the old 
dream. If he were a citizen of the first 
class, even the second or third; if he 
could catch lightly other people's 
thoughts; if he could wall his own; if, 
and if, then . . . then . . . but there never 
was an end to this dream. He knew too 
well it was impossible, even for a dream. 

In the next few hours, by the great- 
est of luck, he might just possibly man- 
age to hoist himself into Class Four; 
every few years some imbecile did it. 
That at any rate, would bring him 
Marta, the greatest happiness of all. 
It was enough. 

But first there was that test. At 
thought of it, so close, some of his cour- 
age oozed away. You must not think 
less of him for it, for he was no nat- 
ural hero, but only an imbecile, on 
whose feeble mind had been overlaid 
twenty years of conditioning in inferior- 
ity. 


CHAPTER II 

Miclcey Takes a Test 

pROM the airbus terminal to the 
Communications Building was only 
a few steps, and a somewhat more hope- 
ful Mickey was quickly in the outer 
offices of the Testing Bureau. There 
was a different robot there today, one 
he had not seen before, and to his sur- 
prise it knew who he was. It ordered, 
pointing: 

"Michael, take the card with your 
name on it from that rack on the wall. 
Then follow the instructions you will 
find on it." 

A trifle upset at contact with this 
mechanism which somehow knew his 
name, Mickey found his card and 
turned to the door, intending to read 
his instructions outside, away from the 
creation's yellow eyes. 

"Mickey!" 

He turned back. It was the robot 
who had spoken— using, this time, his 
familiar name. It went on, now, in an- 
other tone full of kindness. 

"You must love her very much, lad." 

A little nettled, Mickey flung back: 

"How do you know? And what do 
you know about love, anyway!" 

"Your thoughts are not exactly 
weak," the mechanism said, with a de- 
gree of tact. "As you came in I had to 
cut out a tube." 

This was too much. 

"Since when have they been making 
robots that can catch thoughts!" ex- 
claimed Mickey, indignantly. It was 
outrageous. It was unfair! Telepathic 
robots! He blew off some steam. (Could 
it be that he was jealous?) 

"I suppose from now on euthanasia 
will be administered to infant imbeciles 
as well as the idiots. Why not? — now 
that they can make robots that catch 
thoughts. Make robots to take their 


60 


AMAZING STORIES 


places! They'd not only be more use- 
ful, but more convenient; you just turn 
them off and on. Send all fifth class 
adults to the lethal chamber!" 

"Mickey, you're being irrational," 
the robot said gently. "I didn't call 
you back to quarrel with you, but just 
to give you a word of advice. Believe 
me, I am competent to give it. Right 
now you are bitter, very emotional, 
very tense. Relax. You must. In your 
state you'd flunk the test even with a 
second-class brain. Give yourself a 
chance. Loosen up! Now go, and 
good luck." 

A pep talk now, from this robot! He 
was always getting surprises, most of 
them unpleasant. 

Mickey somehow came to mumble 
his thanks and went out. Ordinarily 
one did not thank robots for a service, 
he knew — but then one ordinarily did 
not meet robots who caught thoughts 
and gave advice. What was the world 
coming to, anyway, when side by side 
were men who could not teleget and 
robots that could! Why didn't they 
improve the men first? 

The whole think was just depressing. 

'"pHAT ability to read thoughts— it 
was so important. When very young 
he had thought it merely a decorative 
accomplishment, but that was an in- 
fantile error of judgment, for well he 
knew, now, that it was the fundamental 
need of every citizen, the thing, like 
a pair of hands which made him use- 
ful. The degree of one's ability to tele- 
get was, as a result, the factor given 
most weight in the allocation of class 
ratings. 

Safe in the hall, Mickey looked at 
his card. It bore these words: 

"Go to the Waverly Plaza and sit 
on one of the benches reserved. Relax. 
A message, directed to you personally, 
will be sent at intervals, faint at first 


but in regularly increasing intensities. 
If and when you get it, do as it directs. 
If you have not gotten any message 
in one hour, go home. All results will 
be broadcast shortly thereafter by ra- 
dio-print." 

Well, that was clear, and it was just 
what he had expected. All these prac- 
tical tests followed the same pattern. 
Candidates were sent to a selected place 
in the open; they would sit there re- 
laxed, attempting to achieve optimum 
receptivity to the messages sent. Once 
every few years some lucky oaf with 
a varying threshold would get. All he, 
Mickey, had to do was be the lucky 
one. It was as simple as that. 

Waverly Plaza was just down the 
avenue, and when Mickey arrived there 
he found five of the benches roped off 
and identified with a placard stating 
they were reserved for the test. Of the 
five only four were occupied, with one 
person on each — all men, short, skinny 
and bald-headed ones of normal appear- 
ance, quite unlike himself. Feeling un- 
usually self-conscious, he took the 
empty bench. The injunction on the 
card was to relax, and that too was the 
advice of the surprising robot. So — 
he tried. 

He tried, but his brain buzzed on, 
kept trying, but thoughts kept popping 
out of the corners of his mind, tried 
harder, but found himself tense; and 
then he got mad. Here, out in the open 
public, in the most important moment 
of his life, he was expected to relax ! A 
whole nation of psychologists, each one 
a mental marvel — and they still were 
so stupid as to expect him, imbecile and 
inferior, to relax at such a moment, effi- 
ciently obedient to some words on a 
little piece of paper! They might as 
well ask a man to lift himself by his 
bootstraps — whatever a bootstrap was ! 

Poor bungling Mickey, always func- 
tioning at his low level! He should not 


MYSTERY OF THE BLUE GOD 


61 


have seen Marta just before the test. 
He should not have ridden in that de- 
pressing airbus. He shouldn't have got- 
ten upset at the kindly robot. And now 
he certainly should not have called his 
superiors stupid. He had hardly gotten 
well worked up when a nurse appeared 
who took his pulse and gave him a small 
subcutaneous injection. She did the 
same with the other four candidates. 
The all-important relaxation then be- 
gan to steal over him. 

TVTUCH more calmly, after that, he 
waited — waited for those sub-mi- 
croscopic electromagnetic waves that 
somehow got stopped in normal peo- 
ple's craniums and miraculously were 
converted into word-thoughts. He of 
course did not hope to get actual words, 
but he might get some more or less 
definite impression of the message, 
something on which he could act. He 
was sure he knew how it would be. 
Marta, who was a nurse in the Area 
hospital, had once arranged an informal 
test for him. The resident chief of 
psychiatrists, nose to nose, had tele- 
cast to him at his maximum intensity. 
Mickey thereupon had stuck out his 
tongue. The experiment was a tre- 
mendous success. That had been the 
order! But he hadn't caught any 
words at all, and later he confided to 
Marta that he had stuck out his tongue 
only because at that moment he felt 
like it. 

It was all very wonderful and de- 
pressing. But maybe, with tremen- 
dous luck, he might again get the in- 
clination to do just what his message 
directed. 

But how the devil was he to filter 
out his own particular inclination from 
all the other thoughts crisscrossing 
through his noddle in that public place? 
he wondered. 

He worried. He waited. He got 


nothing. He could imagine a psychia- 
trist focussing on him from a window 
high up in some nearby building. For 
some reason the man looked like that 
other one, and again he had the same 
impulse, to stick out his tongue. But 
he resisted the impulse this time. He 
was dumb, but not that dumb. 

Suddenly he remembered that it was 
a blank mind that gave optimum recep- 
tivity. He shut his eyes and struggled 
to maintain one. His success was not 
notable. Thoughts kept sneaking in 
from all sides. But this was to be ex- 
pected; the incapacity was one of his 
limitations as an inferior. The two up- 
per classes had remarkable powers of 
control. He remembered Talber, his 
guardian, once: for twenty-eight hours 
by the clock he had sat and stared at 
a number of little symbols arranged in 
a swastika on a piece of paper, and in 
all that time he hardly moved. 

Mickey decided, tentatively, that his 
chief trouble lay in the unusual in- 
tensity of his thoughts. That nurse 
should have had sense enough to give 
him a triple shot. 

A QUARTER hour passed, then an- 
other. Mickey still got nothing. 
Not even, any more, the inclination to 
stick out his tongue. He suffered. 
Marta was in the balance! 

His message should be getting much 
stronger; the time was half gone! It 
was but slight relief to open his eyes 
and see that none of the other imbeciles 
had left their seats. 

Thoughts of Marta, and the unbear- 
able consequences if he should fail, now 
began to obsess him. His lovely, most 
desirable Marta! If he were a first- 
classer he might, at that very moment, 
be able to pick up thoughts of encour- 
agement from her, for she was not more 
than ten kilometers away. Again that 
"if." 


62 


AMAZING STORIES 


The afternoon sun lowered; the hand 
on his wrist watch crept to the three- 
quarter's mark, and Mickey still got no 
signal. He began to feel panicky. 
Surely, if he were to get anything at all 
in the fifteen minutes remaining, there 
should be some feeling in his head, how- 
ever faint. But not at all. More 
precious minutes passed, nothing came, 
and his panic grew. 

When there were six minutes left one 
of the men on the other benches got up, 
a look of great excitement on his face. 
Lucky man! Straight back in the di- 
rection of the Communications Build- 
ing he went, the envy of all the tor- 
tured candidates who remained. 

Desperately, then, contrary to all the 
rules, Mickey strained to catch his mes- 
sage. He began to have the feeling 
that there was something; something 
for him; not so much a message as a 
kind of feeling that he should do some- 
thing. He strove, every muscle tense, 
to get the message. For interminable 
periods it would fade away; then it 
would return, seemingly a trifle 
stronger, but he could not make it out. 
Suddenly the image of the robot back 
in the office appeared before his eyes, 
so real that he felt he could reach out 
and touch it. Could it be that he was 
being told to return to the robot? He 
hesitated, uncertain. He knew very 
well that he might have self-suggested 
the thought, himself its originator, and 
that if this were so, to move would re- 
inforce the erroneous idea, destroying 
all chance of receiving the proper one. 

Mickey resisted, but the image pe- 
riodically returned. It was all that 
came through. Only two minutes left! 
Beads of sweat stood out on his face; 
he sat in agony, dominated by the vis- 
ual image of the robot and his hesita- 
tion to go to him. 

One minute left! He waited a few 
seconds longer, then of its own volition 


his body got up and started back to the 
building and the robot. He did not see 
the agonized and envious glances which 
followed him. 

JJE ran. The people in the elevator 
looked at him compassionately, 
and this frightened him. The robot 
stood exactly as in his image, its yel- 
low eyes on Mickey from the second he 
entered the room. Suddenly abashed 
now, Mickey faltered, not knowing 
what further to say or do. And the 
longer he hesitated, the more helpless 
he became. 

A minute passed. Then the robot 
spoke — a little sadly, the young man 
thought. 

"Go home, Mickey," it said. "Go 
home." 

Mickey stumbled out the door. He 
had failed, he was sure of it. The tone 
of the robot, the faces in the elevator, 
the incompleteness of the message — if, 
indeed, the robot was part of the mes- 
sage — all added up to failure. Now 
what were he and Marta to do! 

Eleven kilometers out was the villa 
where he and Talber, the plant genius, 
lived. He walked there. 

Talber had caught him from afar, 
and stood waiting, an old, thin, quiet 
figure, outside the first floor level. He 
of course would have caught every 
thought of Mickey's for many minutes 
past. 

"Yes, Mickey," he said gently, in an- 
swer to his ward's unspoken question; 
"they've come through." He led the 
way up a flight and back into his own 
large living room. On a table in one 
corner stood the radio-printer. Yards 
of tape lay piled in a plastic basket by 
its side, and the apparatus was even 
then busy adding more, as another item 
came in. 

Rapidly Talber scanned the recent 
output, till his eyes rested on a single 


MYSTERY OF THE BLUE GOD 


63 


name. That person, that one imbecile, 
had passed the practical test, and was 
to be allowed to go into the fourth class. 
Talber pointed to the name. 
It was not Mickey's. 

CHAPTER III 
Talber's Death- Visitation 

f?OR a moment Mickey stood look- 
ing at it, then dumbly, emotion un- 
manning him, he turne d,and hurried for 
the one spot, the only one in all the 
world, where he could be decently pri- 
vate, his thoughts and emotions his 
own. 

He made straight for it, in the rear 
of a cluttered storeroom outhouse at 
the edge of the grounds, and stepped 
within its magic little square and lay 
down. In that place he was naked no 
longer. 

He had built the little square when a 
boy, and thereafter always, when some 
childhood tragedy overtook him, had 
run there with his sorrow. He called 
it just his "place." A helpless little 
outcast in an inimical world, it af- 
forded in small part the protection of 
a mother. 

His place was nothing more than an 
area of perhaps a square meter on the 
floor, around which with immense ef- 
fort he had lain a thin, half-meter-high 
wall of the extremely heavy brickets, 
an industrial by-product of matter 
partly stripped of its electrons. Such 
brickets had the power of stopping 
thought waves, and were incorporated 
sometimes in the walls of laboratories 
where delicate experiments were the 
rule. The tones in his low walls he had 
found in the storeroom, left over from 
an intallation in Talber's private labo- 
ratory across the garden. As far as 
Mickey knew, his use of them was his 
own secret. 


He lay curled up there now and let 

the tears run unashamed down his 
cheeks. The world had not changed for 
him; he was still the helpless inferior, 
at the mercy of a host of laws and per- 
sonal incapacities which stood forever 
in his way. One thing, one thing only, 
he desired with all the force of his 
being, and that was Marta. And now 
a stupid test had stolen his chance of 
having her. 

Minutes passed. Mickey heard foot- 
steps and looked over the wall. Talber 
was coming. Again defeat! His re- 
treat was discovered! 

When he drew near Talber answered 
his thought. 

"I've known about your place," he 
said smiling gently. "From the day 
you built it. I suppose I should not 
have allowed you to appropriate the 
brickets for your own use, but perhaps 
I am weak, for the thoughts which 
reached me were those of such a happy 
little boy, struggling mightily with the 
great weight of the pieces of the place 
of refuge he was building." 

Tears came again to Mickey's eyes. 
Talber was so kind. He had always 
been like a father to him. He was 
or had been, until his retirement a 
number of years ago — one of the dozen 
most outstanding scientists alive, and 
yet in spite of his still ceaseless activi- 
ties and prolonged and all-demanding 
thinking he had always found time to 
ease, in little ways, his imbecile ward's 
difficult road. He was much less like 
a guardian than a father. Mickey 
loved him very much. 

HPHE young man got to his feet, and 
Talber laid one hand on his 
shoulder. 

"Don't mind too much, son," he said. 
"You will try again next year, and then, 
perhaps, you will have better luck." 

"Next year!" exclaimed Mickey, all 


64 


AMAZING STORIES 


his feelings finding vent in the words. 
"Another year without Marta! And 
then that heartless test again ! " 

"It is not impassable," was the old 
man's gentle answer. "Performance 
always varies. I know for a fact that 
you are close to the line of division. 
You did not pass the test today, but 
you might have tomorrow, when the 
tremendous number of factors which 
combine to make up your performance 
curve would vary a little. I think, per- 
haps, with special work, I might be able 
to prime you enough to take you across, 
next year. It will take time. I'll have 
to study the rhythm of receptivity nat- 
ural to you, and experiment so as to 
have you artificially at optimum on the 
day you take the test. That would be 
legal, I think." 

"You are very kind, sir," Mickey 
said, but he felt no real joy. That year 
would be en eternity, both for himself 
and Marta. And there was still a big 
"perhaps." 

Talber smiled again. He said: 

"It may be, if your passion keeps up, 
the State will make you pass the test. 
Your thoughts of her cause quite a 
disturbance, you know. People say 
your intensity is vulgar, even disgust- 
ing, and of course it is to some — but 
there are a great many others to whom 
your are a — urn — stimulation. People 
— older people — people who should be 
at work— they find themselves with 
their husbands or wives, holding hands ! 
You are a real disturbance, but at the 
same time unquestionably a social as- 
set." 

"Please don't jest with me, sir," 
Mickey said. 

"But I'm not," was Talber's immedi- 
ate answer, "though of course this does 
have its humorous aspect. I'll tell you 
something you don't know. There is 
a member of the Council who has been 
privately agitating to have a special 


measure passed, so you can marry your 
Marta, and go far away with her and 
wear off the peak of your intensity 
curve. That should be good news. So 
far the chief opposition has come from 
an influential member who, one, lives 
near here, two, has lost the affection 
of his young wife, and three, has re- 
cently found her showing more regard. 
This may be a coincidence; I don't 
know; but here clearly is a situation 
which should give you hope. 

"I do not jest, Mickey. I tell you 
this, thinking it may cheer you a little." 

Perhaps Mickey should have been 
cheered, but with imbecilic perversity 
the news only depressed him the more. 

"Well, I'm sorry if I've been a dis- 
turbance to you, sir," he managed. 
"I — I" 

"But I rather like it, son," Talber 
said, interrupting. "Anyway, I'm in 
my laboratory most of the time, where 
your thoughts can't reach me." 

TV/TICKEY sat on the edge of the wall, 
11 still in gloom. Talber said, at 
length: 

"You certainly do love her. Have 
you considered having yourself remo- 
tionally re-oriented? You needn't go 
on this way. It may seem unthinkable 
now, to have every trace of Marta 
erased from your mind, but once it's 
done it will be as though she never 
existed. In the same trip you could be 
re-pointed to any girl whom you may 
select from among those willing and 
eligible. It's much the most rational 
thing to do." 

Exactly what he had teased Marta 
with! 

Talber said at once: 

"All right, all right. But I think it 
may be your hard luck that the State 
does no forcing." 

Mickey looked full in his guardian's 
eyes. 


MYSTERY OF THE BLUE SOD 


65 


"Am I so very like my mother?" he 
asked suddenly. 

"Very much, lad," Talber said. "Even 
more robust, physically. I knew her 
well; I even had the opportunity to 
study her. She was unquestionably of 
the direct line, untouched by the Age 
of Mutations. Your father was a most 
promising scientist, in the first class 
from his youth. He thought her very 
beautiful, and I can say for myself that 
she was. Of course few others thought 
so." 

"And everyone looked down on her," 
Mickey said gloomily; "just like me. 
There must be a very strong tendency 
for human beings to dislike, or even 
hate, those who are different." 

"There is!" was the answer. "It is 
an elemental instinct, and runs all 
through the animal kingdom. It may 
not be in accord with the philosophy 
which prates of universal love, but it is 
biologically rational. Throughout all 
evolution the prime urge of every type 
is to reproduce, protect, and make as- 
cendant its own kind." 

Mickey sighed. Talber said: 

"So Marta will be stopping by when 
she leaves to go on duty." 

Mickey had had that thought. 

"Yes," he said. " I hope we won't 
disturb you." 

"I'll be in my laboratory, quite un- 
disturbable," the elderly scientist said. 
"I had better go there now. Console 
yourself, son, with the thought that 
next year you'll get up. If I live, we'll 
work it." 

"But of course you'll live!" Mickey 
exclaimed. Several times lately this 
odd thought had been expressed by Tal- 
ber. "You're only one five; barring 
accidents you have at least twenty 
years more." 

"I have the feeling I am going to die," 
said the old man with a distant look, 
as if the wall of the storeroom were not 


there. "It is probably irrational, but 
there is always a chance it is a true 
prescience. You wouldn't understand, 
Mickey — you could hardly get through 
your relativity — but there do occur 
phenomena like prescience and the 
death-visitation— resultants of rare in- 
terrelations of time and energy beyond 
precise formulation and prediction. It 
may be, some time, that one combina- 
tion will tear the world apart." 

1LJE LOOKED back at the young 
man. 

"You have not forgotten my instruc- 
tions?" he asked. 

"Oh no, sir," answered Mickey. 
"Upon the failure of all attempts to 
revive you, I will do exactly as you have 
ordered." 

"I wish I could tell you more, 
Mickey," said the old man sincerely, 
"but — your guard is very imperfect." 

"I know," was the gloomy answer. 

"Just throw that switch." 

"Yes, sir." 

Slowly, musing deeply, Talber left. 
Mickey followed a little behind, and 
through the softening light of the sun- 
set saw the master enter his laboratory. 
The instinct to explore was strong. 
Many master scientists, on retiring 
from the public service, worked out 
their lives in such private laboratories. 

Talber's place was rather unusual, 
in that only about two meters of it 
showed above the level of the ground. 
There would be steps leading down- 
ward. Standing there, Mickey won- 
dered what research it was that the 
old scientist pursued so diligently, 
through such long and exhausting 
hours, in the unknown interior of that 
building. Something connected with 
his great specialty, plant genesis, with- 
out doubt. He Mickey, had never been 
inside. That was forbidden. 

If Mickey's place in the social scheme 


66 


AMAZING STORIES 


was of the humblest, he at least had 
few responsibilities. Under the some- 
what loose guardianship arrangement 
he did all the lowly jobs around the 
villa, spending most of his time groom- 
ing the trees and grounds, and, particu- 
larly, looking after the small plot of 
flower-vegetables which now were all 
that remained of the plant scientist's 
outdoor experiments. There was noth- 
ing that had to be done at this late hour 
of the day, so Mickey went back to his 
place. 

One more year! One more whole 
year to wait! 

The afternoon sun dipped low and 
went under. Twilight came on apace, 
and the familiar objects over the walls 
of Mickey's retreat took on dim and 
half real lines. Sunk in his gloomy 
thoughts, quite without appetite, 
Mickey waited. Soon he would get up 
and go down the road, and there wait 
for Marta. Perhaps he would even be 
able to feel her coming. Sometimes 
he could. 

For some minutes he lay curled there, 
exhausted by the emotional drain of the 
day, and now, at last, physically pas- 
sive. For a time he dozed. It grew 
much darker; it was time to go. He 
stood up, stretched, and slowly stepped 
over the low walls of his retreat. 

He had, then, suddenly, a most pecu- 
liar feeling and on its heels came a 
tremendous shock. 

In the middle of the narrow passage, 
not two meters away, stood the figure 
of Talber. Dim as the light was, he 
saw the figure did not move, not by the 
stirring of a hair; it stood like a man 
frozen, and a fixed flood of dark blood 
spread down over the face and chest. 
That! Dark blood, fixed motionless in 
its gushing flow! 

For one long second Mickey was a 
man frozen himself, then, sharp as the 
crack of a million volts, he understood. 


This was not Talber himself. It was 
his death-visitation. 

Mickey raised his arm, and the figure 
vanished. 

CHAPTER IV 

The Men in the Laboratory 

AS IT did, every single hair on 
Mickey's body rose on end in a 
tidal wave of fear. This was no trick 
of television, no impossible ghost, no 
visual hallucination, but an authentic 
death-visitation, one such as Talber 
had mentioned only a few minutes be- 
fore! Talber lay dead somewhere! — 
but not before he had managed, in the 
last wrenching second of remaining life, 
to appear in terrifying testimony of that 
fact! 

Mickey stood motionless, every nerve 
tingling, eyes still on the space where 
the figure had been. Here and there, 
all over the Earth, from time im- 
memorial, occasional men had experi- 
enced this phenomenon, but the lock 
of its secret, deep in the symbols of 
new space-time theory, had never yet 
been picked. Yet he, Mickey, the im- 
becile who could not catch a thought, 
was one who could catch this! 

That wound. Could it be murder? 
But murder, even lesser crime, was now 
all but unknown. There were only the 
very rare excesses of undetected in- 
sanity. 

The old scientist's head had been 
bent. His face was turned oddly to 
one side, with a peculiar tortured ex- 
pression on it . . . 

With an effort Mickey rallied his 
wits and a little courage. He would 
of course have to go look for Talber. 
Without doubt he was in the laboratory. 
If he were dead, the ban on his entering 
was automatically lifted, surely; if 
alive, that happiness would sustain 


MYSTERY OF THE BLUE GOD 


67 


Mickey through any possible punish- 
ment. 

He hurried to the side entrance. 
Across the little garden, dim in the 
fading twilight, rose the low, ivy-clad 
sides of the sunken laboratory. Trem- 
bling a little, he tiptoed down the flower- 
banked path to its only door, and lis- 
tened carefully there for some time. The 
silence within seemed complete. He 
ventured a timid knock, but that 
brought no response. More boldly, 
then, but with extreme care, he lifted 
the latch and pushed the door inward. 

He could just make out the first few 
steps in a stairway which led downward 
and was at once lost in darkness. The 
silence remained unbroken. If Talber 
— or anyone — was down there, there 
was no sign. 

TV/TICKEY returned to the storeroom 
and got a flash, and in its bright 
ray he saw that the steps went down for 
perhaps two meters, then turned off at 
a right angle to the side. As quietly 
as he could, he began to slip down. 

At the turn he found they led to a 
wide hallway walled and floored with 
ordinary builder's plastic. Continuing 
down and ahead, his darting beam 
picked out a series of doors which 
opened into the hallway on one side. 
All that his beam reached were closed. 
He tiptoed past the first two, but at a 
doorway on the other side, opposite 
the third, he stopped. Some feeling 
seemed to hold him there, as if that was 
the place he should enter. Obedient to 
the feeling, he inched inward the door. 

Before him lay a large room with a 
high ceiling, in area and position cor- 
responding to the part of the building 
projecting above ground. It was a work- 
ing laboratory. Flasks, chemicals, and 
unfamiliar physical and chemical equip- 
ment of all kinds stood on tables or lay 
in glistening rows in air-tight cabinets 


along the walls. He entered, darting his 
ray everywhere. 

In a far corner the beam caught and 
held on a familiar and well-loved figure. 
It was Talber. He was standing mo- 
tionless, straight up against the wall, 
his back to Mickey but his head and 
cheek turned; and there was a peculiar 
set to his body. 

Mickey called to him. There was no 
response, either of word or movement. 
Dreadfully, he approached the man. 
His head, he saw now, was at one of the 
tiny windows which looked out into the 
garden. Fresh blood gleamed along the 
side of his face. 

Overcoming his dread Mickey laid a 
hand on Talber's body. As he did so 
there was a slight ripping sound and 
the man slpiped all the way to the 
floor and lay motionless. Kneeling, his 
ear to Talber's bloody chest, Mickey 
listened for a heartbeat. There was 
none. Talber was dead. 

Dead — and he had been standing 
erect, exactly as Mickey had seen him 
in the death visitation! 

On his temple was a jagged wound, 
identical with that on the temple of the 
other, and on his face, too, was the 
same agonized expression. He had 
been standing at that little window, 
death at his very elbow, as if trying 
with a last mighty effort to summon or 
notify Mickey. 

It had been a frantic effort, Mickey 
thought, for otherwise he could not 
possibly have caught the collar of his 
smock in the window hook. 

But this was more than death. It 
looked very much like murder! Mur- 
der! The very word in that age was 
almost unknown! 

jyjICKEY picked up the slight body 
and hurried with it back through 
the hallway and up the flight of steps 
leading to the garden. Night had closed 


AMAZING STORIES 


in, and a huge golden moon lit his way 
to the Villa. Up in Talber's living room 
he laid the limp body carefully on a long 
couch. He ran at once to the medicine 
cabinet, found there the standard gland 
compound which so often had fanned 
an undetectable spark of life to a strong 
glow, and rapidly, in a vein inside the 
elbow, injected the few drops pre- 
scribed. He watched hopefully for 
some sign of returning life. He watched 
vainly. 

There was a soft sound of footsteps 
behind him, and he turned to find 
Marta, an unfamiliar expression of 
anxiety on her face. 

"Mickey!" she cried. "I felt there 
was something!" 

In brief phrases Mickey explained 
what had happened. Marta, as a nurse, 
knew at once what was to be done. 

"We must get him to the hospital," 
she said, "and right away. If his death 
was caused only by that temple injury, 
there's more than a chance that they 
can bring him back. Run and get out 
the car," she ordered. "Hurry!" 

Mickey darted out to the little hangar 
and quickly was skimming Talber's 
two-place aircar along the driveway, 
just off the ground. He had no sooner 
jumped out than Marta appeared at the 
door, bearing, herself, the slight body of 
the dead man. Mickey received it, 
placed it carefully in the passenger's 
seat, and then would have hopped into 
the other one himself if Marta had not 
objected. 

"No, Mickey, I'll take him," she said. 
"I know the inside track there, and 
it's nearly time for me to go on duty, 
anyway. You stay here and watch the 
laboratory. Heavens knows who or 
what might be in it, to have done this. 
It does look like murder. I'll report 
it at the hospital." 

She stepped into the pilot's seat. 
Humming gently, the car rose, pointed 


straight over the rising moon, and 
darted upward. Mickey watched it for 
a moment, then turned and stepped into 
the garden. 

Just ahead, leaf-wrapped and mys- 
terious in the moonlight, rose the low 
walls of the laboratory. Now, because 
of what had just happened, Mickey 
saw it through a lens of fear. Murder 
had just been committed there. The 
murderer might still be inside. 

For the first time Mickey remem- 
bered Talber's instructions in the event 
of his death. He was to throw the 
knife-switch he would find in a little 
box on the wall inside the laboratory 
door. Now Talber was dead, but it was 
too soon to carry out his injunction. 
There was a chance that the life of his 
organs continued, so that the reviving 
technique, with its blood transfusions 
and the mechanical operation of the 
heart and lungs, could bring him back. 
He would have to hear unsuscitatable 
death pronounced by the physicians, 
first. 

The dark, silent laboratory fasci- 
nated him, seemed to draw him. It was 
as if were the unlike pole of a magnetic 
field, attracting him in spite of the re- 
pulsion of the like pole, his fear. The 
murderer might still be there. Dared 
he go in and have a look? 

pjE STILL carried his flash, but he 
ought to have some kind of a 
weapon. He was strong enough to 
handle a dozen normal unarmed men — 
but the murderer might be armed. 
There was nothing on the premises, he 
knew; small ray and bullet projectors 
had not been used since the Age of Mu- 
tations. 

He felt a considerable urge to go in 
at once, but he resisted it and, standing 
there, concocted a weapon. He would 
use an energy outlet from the store- 
room. This, taking broadcast power 


MYSTERY OF THE BLUE SOD 


69 


from the air, and stepping it up to a 
killing amperage, would provide him 
with a fully adequate weapon at close 
quarters. He would hold out the ex- 
posed ends of the wires. 

He found at once the unit he wanted. 
It occupied a space of about half a cubic 
meter, and though it would have been 
quite heavy to an ordinary man, he 
carried it easily enough. Rapidly he 
checked and adjusted it, then, carefully 
holding the two deadly live ends well 
away from him, he retraced his steps 
to the laboratory door. 

The urge to enter was still strong, 
but he stopped there, greatly afraid. 
And for good reason. For the thou- 
sandth time, realization of his inferior- 
ity swept over him. What chance would 
he, an imbecile, have against a normal! 
Any normal ! Every one of them was a 
genius, relative to himself. All his life 
normals had thought faster and more 
accurately and to better purpose than 
he; they seemed to know everything, 
and were able to use their knowledge so 
quickly and in so many unexpected 
ways. The murderer, if he were below, 
would surely catch his thoughts, how- 
ever well he managed to wall them. 
No— he decided— he would not go in. 

But Mickey, as it turned out, was 
not the one making decisions in that 
silent garden. A moment later — he 
could not have explained why — he 
changed his mind. He would go down, 
but about one thing he'd be terribly 
careful, and that was his thoughts. 
He would not think. He would not! 
By making a great effort he could 
blank his mind for a few minutes, he 
knew. He would do that now. 

He did it before taking a step, and 
maintaining the state pushed open the 
door and listened. Hearing nothing, 
he as silently as possible slipped down 
the dark steps. He was not going to 
use his flash unless necessary. Dark- 


ness would be an ally. Normals at 
least could not see in the dark. 

Slowly he felt his way down the hall. 
The darkness was like a solid. When 
he came to the door of the room where 
he had discovered the dead Talber, he 
found it a little ajar, and he couldn't 
for the life of him remember whether 
or not he had closed it after him, when 
he left. Then suddenly he cursed him- 
self. This was thinking! He had to 
keep his mind a blank! 

tTE ENTERED. He half noted- 
trying not to experience anything 
sharply — that a faint light lay diffused 
through the room from the several tiny 
windows fronting on the garden. Awk- 
wardly, energy outlet hanging from his 
left forearm, flash in the hand of that 
arm and the wires in his other hand, 
he advanced into the room. It seemed 
as empty as before. He felt his way 
to the place he had found Talber, brush- 
ing and bumping against dim objects on 
the way. 

He had come to find a murderer, but 
now, for some reason, he was at a loss 
what to do next. He risked using his 
flash. A small pool of blood, fresh and 
still gleaming in the light of the beam, 
lay on the floor in the place where Tal- 
ber had stood in death. Small puddles 
led to a large oven on the other side 
of the room — one of the kind used by 
metallurgists. He went to the oven. 
There the blood trail ended, or rather 
began. He found large splotches on the 
side of the door. Cautiously, his live 
wires ready, Mickey hooked the door 
open with his right elbow and looked 
in. 

There was much more blood inside — 
but no more, anywhere he could see, 
outside. Did this mean that Talber 
had been attacked while inside the 
oven? Why should he be inside, and 
why attacked there? Was his death 


70 


AMAZING STORIES 


wound an accident after all? Surely 
not. 

He looked again about the labora- 
tory, this time searchingly, with full 
use of the light. He saw no one but 
there was someone there ! A voice came 
to him — a quiet voice with a resonance 
much like his own — and it spoke his 
name! 

"Mickey." 

A terrific scare shot through him; he 
swept his light everywhere, looking for 
the owner of the voice; his thought 
guard went hopelessly down. He could 
find no one at all. But again sounded 
the voice. 

"Mickey." 

It was terrifying. 

Summoning all his courage, Mickey 
tremblingly called out: 
"Where are you?" 

His own voice, echoing through the 
ray-pierced blackness, frightened him 
further. After a measurable pause an 
answer came back. 

"Here, Mickey." . 

T^HE tone was smooth and attractive, 
1 and seemed to bear, deep within it, 
a trace of amusement. Mickey had the 
feeling that the unknown invisible was 
playing with him, as a cat with a mouse. 

"Step out, I can't see you," he man- 
aged to say. 

"All right, Mickey," the voice purred 
on. "I'll step out, but you will not be 
able to see me, for your eyes are clos- 
ing. Yes, your eyes are closing, Mickey, 
and you're growing very sleepy," the 
voice went on soothingly. "Very sleepy. 
You would not hurt me with that cur- 
rent you carry. You like me. I am your 
friend. You are growing very sleepy; 
that apparatus is heavy, and you want 
to switch it off and set it down — don't 
you, Mickey?" 

"Yes," Mickey answered. 

He did feel sleepy, lulled by the sug- 


gestion of that soothing voice. There 
was no longer any murderer for whom 
he was looking, but only the sensation 
of fatigue. He switched off the outlet 
and laid it on the floor. 

A figure stepped into view from be- 
hind a nearby cabinet, but this his 
heavy eyelids did not let him see. 

"So sleepy," came the soothing 
words. "Your eyes are closed . . . you 
can't open them . . . you can't put off 
sleeping any longer . . . you are lying 
down. It is so pleasant, isn't it, 
Mickey?" 

"Yes, so pleasant," Mickey said, ly- 
ing on the floor. 

He did not even know what had hap- 
pened. He lay there hypnotized, and 
did not see the figure which came for- 
ward and examined him with a curiosity 
which, had it been observed, would have 
been surprising. 

CHAPTER V 
Buried Alive 

A/TICKEY felt he had "slept" for 
1 only a moment when conscious- 
ness began to return. His first thought 
was that he lay helpless in the grip of 
some terrible nightmare. He was being 
strangled and could not move! He 
gasped for breath, strained, strained 
more and more violently, but it was as 
if his whole body was rigidly confined. 
He seemed awake, but he could not 
move his body! His ears rang — and 
he felt the grate of grit between his 
teeth. Grit! — and he could not even 
move his jaws to spit it out! Once 
more he strained, with all his strength, 
and then something seemed to give, and 
he had the sickening sensation of fall- 
ing. 

The falling was real! He crashed 
heavily on a hard surface, and again 
lost consciousness. 


MYSTERY OF THE BLUE GOD 


71 


This time he came to slowly. As his 
mind cleared he found that he now 
could move his body. There was still 
grit or dirt in his mouth, a lot of it, 
and some in his nose, too. He spat it 
out, and opened his eyes. As he did so 
his eyeballs were seared with pain, and 
he knew, then, that the dirt was in his 
eyes, too. He was numb all over, but 
with an effort he found his eyelids and 
pulled them out, to let his eyes water 
and wash the dirt away. 

Slowly the pain lessened but there 
was no light. He could not have ima- 
gined such darkness. The surface on 
which he lay was hard; it felt like 
plastic. Scattered over it he could feel 
large clumps and piles of freshly broken 
earth. He had no idea where he was. 

He got stiffly to his knees and groped 
around. He seemed to be in a wide, 
paved area, irregularly spattered with 
mounds of large stones and loose earth. 
He shouted for help, but only echoes 
came back to mock his ears. Appar- 
ently, from the sound, the place where 
he found himself was enclosed; the air, 
too, was still and musty, as if it had 
been confined there for a long time. He 
was terribly afraid that he might be 
blind. It was either that or he was in 
an underground cavern. And if it were 
a cavern, that meant only one thing — 
he must be somewhere in the so-called 
City of the Troglodites, that vast, un- 
derground, labyrinthine maze where 
had lived, fought, and died one almost 
forgotten human sub-type, spawn of the 
fearful Age of Mutation. 

Suddenly there came to him memory 
of all that had happened before — the 
death-visitation and finding of Talber, 
his investigation of the laboratory, and 
the smooth voice which had twice re- 
peated his name. He had no memory of 
anything after that. Apparently he had 
been hypnotized — but why? How had 
he come to this place? Was it a dream 


that he had awakened once, unable to 
move, his nose and mouth filled with 
dirt? He remembered very clearly a 
sickening fall. If he had been buried 
alive somewhere above one of the cav- 
erns, and then the earth of the cavern 
roof had given way and allowed him to 
fall — that would explain some part of 
his present predicament. 

tpXCITED by this idea he got to his 
feet and moved forward more 
boldly, but he had not taken two steps 
when he stumbled and fell sprawling. 
Groping, his hands found that it was 
another pile of loose earth that had 
brought him down. But one hand 
found something else — something which 
he flung from him with a cry of terror. 
It was — at least, to his brief touch it 
felt like — a detached human hand! 

A moment later, when he had re- 
covered from the shock, he was not so 
sure what it was; but the memory kept 
bothering him, so he set out to re-find 
the thing. On hands and knees, feeling 
over every inch of the surface for some 
distance in the direction he had thrown 
it, he searched. 

Eventually he found it again. He 
had not been mistaken. It was a hu- 
man hand, flexible, still warm, and — 
wet! Deliberately, this time, he flung 
it away far into the night which lay 
solid all around. He was filled with a 
sudden great urge to get out of that 
place. 

He pushed to his feet again. He 
would first have to find a wall. Care- 
fully he picked his way forward, trying 
his best to maintain a straight line. He 
came to one, but it was at a surprising 
distance. It was smooth and flat to 
his touch, like the floor, and it extended 
straight out to each side in the dark- 
ness. Choosing the left side, he fol- 
lowed it. 

He found at once he was not going to 


72 


AMAZING STORIES 


have smooth going. There were ob- 
stacles underfoot. His hands groped 
over the irregular and rusted surfaces 
of metal machinery, and his feet took 
him uncertainly over scattered tins, 
broken pieces of construction work, and 
other rubbish. 

At first contact with this rubbish his 
suspicion of before became a certainty. 
He was in the City of the Troglodites, 
and nowhere else. The plastic floor and 
walls, the tins, the decayed machinery 
and rubbish — these were the mute and 
dark-buried remains of the terrific 
struggle to survive of that unfortunate 
breed, driven deep into the earth in the 
terrible Age of Mutations.* 

He was heartened by the realization 


*In that Age new mutations of the human line, 
produced artificially and almost simultaneously in 
outlaw laboratories all over the world, had engaged 
in a complex frightful war of extermination, the 
older types hating the new with an intensity 
scarcely conceivable, and the new types reciprocat- 
ing just as fiercely in kind. The struggle to domi- 
nate lasted many centuries; victory swung tem- 
porarily from one type to another, determined by 
brief working alliances and sudden treacheries, the 
irregular development of new lethal weapons, and, 
especially, the successful adaptation of new muta- 
tion characteristics. In one period whole cities 
and communication networks were built under- 
ground, sometimes in many levels. Life fought 
hard and died horribly. 

Out of that welter of feud and blood had 
emerged the type of Talber, superior cousins of 
the direct line, of which Mickey and Marta were 
apparently good specimens. And born of fear in 
that terrible age was the chief guiding principle 
of the modern State— a strict proscription against 
all meddling with the mechanisms which produce 
mutations. 

The feeling against mutations slept deep, these 
days, because the present type, with its telepathic 
faculty, was far and away best fitted to survive, 
and was in no faintest danger from the infrequent 
birth of individuals of the formerly dominant 
line. There can be no hate where there is no fear. 

Mickey knew all this well. When young, in 
blue moments resulting from his out-caste condi- 
tion, he had sometimes wondered if he might not 
be a mutation. He was not one; he had been 
thoroughly examined a number of times; but his 
secret childhood fears had left him unable to 
hear the word "mutation," or even think of the 
dreadful Age of Mutations, without experiencing 
odd crawling feelings in his viscera.— Ed. 


of where he was. The underground 
city had exits. True, they were barred 
and locked, but there were a few places 
where entrance had been forced by the 
more adventurous of the small boys of 
the prevailing race in their brief "sav- 
age" period. Mickey had been one of 
these offenders, and his period had 
lasted longer than those of the others, 
and as a result he knew— or at least 
he once knew — several small portions 
of the network near the villa fairly well. 
If, by luck, he was in that neighbor- 
hood, he would get out somehow, he was 
sure. 

HPHERE was no use shouting any 
more, for he would never be heard; 
nor could anyone on the surface get his 
thought waves, for there were not only 
a hundred feet of more of earth lying 
interposed, but, in many places, an 
additional built-in roof of thought 
wave-damping material. He groped his 
way with some slight confidence along 
the wall he had found, determined to 
follow it wherever it went. If his 
strength held out, this procedure would 
eventually lead him to one of the exits, 
where he could make his predicament 
known. 

He seemed to have fallen into a very 
large open area, for he had to move 
along the wall for several minutes be- 
fore it made a right angle. He followed 
the new wall without hesitation, some- 
times coming to stretches where there 
were no obstacles and then making 
good speed. This wall turned presently 
at another right angle. There, the dif- 
ference in the sounds of the echoes, 
when he made test cries, told him he 
had come to an avenue, one of the long, 
wide passageways that connected the 
larger areas. He many times passed by 
open spaces in the wall which would 
lead off, he knew, into a maze of small 
cubicles— the work rooms and sleeping 


MYSTERY OF THE BLUE SOD 


T6 


quarters of the exterminated race. 

For what seemed hours he continued 
on in this way, stumbling occasionally, 
often barking his shins, and growing, in 
spite of his exertions, stiffer and sorer 
all the way. The fall from the ceiling 
of the cavern, while breaking no bones 
and doing no major damage, seemed to 
have wrenched him all through. 

At last came a moment of triumph, 
when his straining eyes beheld, ahead, 
an ever-so-faint lessening of the night. 
Eagerly increasing his speed he quickly 
reached the end of the passage he was 
in. He found his way blocked by mas- 
sive doors, made of heavy metal plates. 
Through thin cracks between the plates 
he saw a section of brightly moonlit 
landscape. 

To his joy the scene seemed familiar. 
Rapidly he backed a few steps and went 
through a narrow open space into a 
small room on one side of the passage. 
If he was right, there should be an exit, 
blocked by a large stone, in the angle 
of that room. 

It was there! In a few minutes he 
was out in the bright moonlight, free. 

CHAPTER VI 
"You Are a Murderer!" 

TT WAS well toward dawn, Mickey 
judged, for the moon, silver now, 
and its normal size, rode lightly far in 
the other side of the heavens. He was 
only a kilometer from home. About 
him, softly etched, lovely in the moon- 
light, familiar little villas nestled sleep- 
ily in their landscaped terraces and 
hobby gardens. 

Their occupants were not all asleep, 
however, for in most of them lights 
gleamed softly from the upper windows. 
It was a characteristic of the type domi- 
nant, that their waking-sleeping cycle 
no longer held at twenty-four hours; 


while it varied with individuals, it 
averaged close to thirty for waking, 
and ten for sleep. At all times the 
larger part of the population was 

awake. 

Now that he was free Mickey began 
to be beset by thoughts of Marta and 
how she had made out with the dead 
Talber. The hospital was close by, but 
he was so dirty and smeared with blood 
that he decided to strike back to the 
villa where he lived and inquire from 
there. 

He was extremely curious about the 
laboratory. He knew now that he had 
fallen into the underground city from 
a place close to it, if not actually from 
beneath it, and he kept remembering 
the first part of what happened on his 
return there the second time, and the 
unknown, smooth voice, rather like his 
own, which had spoken his name. He 
could not wait to find out what had hap- 
pened. With long strides he started 
back along the velvet surfaced road. 

There were an unusual number of 
lighted villas, he began to notice, and 
an unusual amount of aerial acitvity 
overhead. As he came to his own 
neighborhood he saw that it was the 
villa, or the laboratory, that was the 
focus of this activity. Aircars kept 
heading toward the spot, just over a 
low ridge, where it lay — more than 
came from there. Murder still was 
news! He passed a few people on the 
road, headed in that direction. They 
looked at him curiously, and behaved, 
he thought, as if they were afraid of 
him. He couldn't blame them, for he 
knew he looked like a murderer himself, 
and an insane one at that. His frag- 
mentary thoughts would not be exactly 
reassuring— full of blood, death-visita- 
tions, murder, burial alive, and such 
smaller details as a detached human 
hand. 

As he topped the ridge he saw that 


74 


AMAZING STORIES 


hundreds of people thronged the garden 
and walks of the estate, amid a confu- 
sion of moving hand-flash beams. To 
one side lay the aircars most had come 
in. On the other, in the place where 
the laboratory had been, lay a ragged, 
gaping hole. 

Mickey without pausing took this in. 
It was exciting, but he half expected it. 

But at once he saw another, very 
disagreeable thing. The crowd stilled, 
and every individual in it turned with 
face in his direction, eyes on him alone. 
He groaned. It was the same old thing. 
His thought waves, striking powerfully 
in a direct line from the top of the ridge, 
were having their usual dominating 
effect* 

Well, he was used to that. He could 
not help it, and had nothing to fear. 
Tonight his thoughts were at least 
startlingly different. 

HpHE crowd remained hushed and 
motionless as he approached, and 
the people nearest shrunk to the side 
and made way for him. Able to see 
the wreckage of the laboratory better, 
then, he found that the structure had 
been entirely blown up, except for a 
small part near the entrance. He turned 
to the nearest man and asked respect- 
fully: 

"Can you tell me what happened 
here, sir?" 

"You can see," was the answer he 

*In these times, it is obvious that, with thought 
transference so prevalent, and communication pos- 
sible between individuals even over great dis- 
tances, the emotion described in 1941 as "Mob 
Hysteria" had a basis in something other than 
physical action. The thought waves of persons 
greatly aroused emotionally seem to be more 
powerful, and when a group of people express, in 
unison, such an emotion as fear, or rage, it 
spreads until it takes hold of the reason to the ex- 
tent of resulting in physical action unguided by 
reason. Thus, it is possible that Mickey, with bis 
powerful brain waves, was able to produce, singly, 
enough emanations to influence a whole mob to 
action— in this case, belief in his guilt.— Ed. 


got. There was a look on the man's 
face which Mickey could not read. For 
that matter the single attitude of the 
entire crowd struck him as odd. One 
after another their beams were now 
arching up and holding on him merci- 
lessly. 

"Don't be alarmed at my appear- 
ance," Mickey said. "Something hap- 
pened to me; I'm not sure what; but I 
suspect I was in the laboratory when 
it happened. But I'm awfully anxious 
to know about Talber. Could they re- 
vive him, do you know?" 

The crowd stood like a colossal group 
statue, Mickey the unvarying focus of 
every eye. The man answered coldly: 

"He is dead. For the second time. 
They are again trying to bring him 
back." 

Mickey gaped. 

"But— but I don't understand. Why 
is he dead twice? Please tell me, sir!" 

"You don't know?" 

Mickey saw that the man did not 
trust him. 

"No, sir — I don't know anything 
about it!" he protested. "You catch 
that, don't you? You all can tell that," 
he added, addressing the people near 
him with some anxiety. 

The man kept his eyes on Mickey 
for a moment, then he said: 

"When Talber came alive after the 
first time he ran here, quite out of his 
mind, and it was he who blew up the 
laboratory. He died again at once." 

Mickey could only gape at the man. 
His words brought nothing but con- 
fusion. A second man, on the other 
side, began to speak to him, and auto- 
matically he turned and faced him. 

"Tell us how he died the first time," 
were his words. 

Mickey knew then what was in their 
minds. He was supposed to have com- 
mitted the murder! The realization 
paralyzed him; he stammered; for a 


MYSTERY OF THE BLUE GOD 


moment words would not come. When 
they did he answered not the question, 
but the thought in the man's mind. 

"Oh, I didn't, I didn't!" he cried. 
"I couldn't! You know that, sir — you 
can catch my thoughts! Can't you?" 
Anguished, he appealed to the whole 
crowd. "Can't you? You can see! I 
have nothing to hide!" 

They never took their eyes off 
Mickey, and never moved. One other 
man spoke. His manner was that of 
one making a reaction test. 

"There is photographic evidence." 

A/TICKEY took one step backward. 

His eyes became wild; under- 
standing diminished. Several men an- 
swered his step by taking one forward. 
For one second they stood that way; 
then Mickey, swept by elemental fear, 
turned and ran. But he did not get five 
meters. A pink beam stabbed through 


the night and caught him full, and then 

he was lying on the ground, helpless. 

Paralyzed, but fully conscious, he 
saw the crowd surge forward and en- 
gulf him. There were exclamations and 
loud cries. Some one felt his thumb, 
then flashed a light in his face and ex- 
amined his eyeballs. Mickey had a 
flashing realization that they were esti- 
mating the effect of the dose of the 
paralyzing ray. 

He lay for some time on the ground 
among the excited people, and for the 
first time in his life he telegot. One 
word, unmistakable, came through to 
him, again and again. 

"Murderer." "Murderer." 

Three men came and, with the help 
of others, carried him to the back seat 
of a large aircar. On the way Mickey 
gathered from their talk that he was to 
be taken to the hospital and put under 
(Continued on page 76) 


KIDNAPED INTO THE FUTURE! 


THINGS really happen fast when Mrs. Number 33 goes out 
1 In search of her husband. ... She floes all the way 
from the year 4230 back to the Twentieth Century to find 
him, and when she does! . . . 

Without a word the gloriously impressive creature presses 
two buttons an her wide belt. . . . With a faint hiss, three 
brilliant streaks of light crackle out and seem to spear 
the gangsters in their foreheads. . . . Dapper Dan and his 
chop men lie stretched on the floor. . . . 

She marches across the room and Jerks her husband to 
his feet, . . . Poor little No. 33 — he was having a mar- 
velous time "night-clubbing" in the Twentieth Century till 
his super-amazon wife got wise. . . . You'll get a thrill out 
of his punch-packed adventures In "Kidnaped Into the Fu- 
ture" by William P. McGivern— one of the 10 great stories 
you'll want to read in the big 


FEBRUARY ISSUE 



STANDS DECEMBER ! 


76 


AMAZING STORIES 


mechanical hypnosis, to have dredged 
out of his unconscious the real memo- 
ries lurking there. He took comfort in 
this, knowing they would find him in- 
nocent. 

As the car rose, however, the talk of 
the three men brought to his mind a new 
and most dreadful possibility. His 
thoughts had been caught, he learned; 
they were convin-proof that he thought 
he was innocent; but they did not at 
all prove that he was innocent. In that 
day almost all crime was crime of in- 
sanity — and the insane may perform 
an act of violence without consciously 
remembering it! Their moral standards, 
warped, would not necessarily impose 
on their consciousness the usual telltale 
scar. And even a completely normal 
person had subterranean currents of 
amazing perversity. He, Mickey might 
have murdered Talber and not now be 
conscious of it ! 

And there was photographic evi- 
dence, that man had said I And now 
that he came to think of it, there was 
opportunity! He could not account for 
the few minutes prior to the death- 
visitation except by an impression he 
had dozed! 

This was the most terrible thing 
possible! They thought he had done 
it and he could have done it ! The death- 
visitation may have been nothing but a 
hallucinatory ghost, swept briefly to his 
eyes by one of the dark, unknown cur- 
rents of his unconscious. 

After all, all these normals, so in- 
finitely superior to himself in almost 
everything, must know what they were 
doing! 

In his agony he groaned aloud. 

AT THE sound all three men looked 
at him, startled. Their look 
prodded Mickey into a new realization. 
If the muscles of his throat could func- 
tion again, perhaps his others could too. 


He tried to lift his hand. It moved. 
The paralysis was wearing off! They 
had underestimated his unusual phy- 
sique, and not given him a sufficient 
dose! 

With an effort Mickey raised his 
arms. At once the man on each side 
of him grasped one and held him tight. 
Mickey strained against their hold, and 
with growing strength forced his arms 
free. With two awkward motions, then, 
he swept the man on his right across 
against the other, and caught the neck 
of the pilot in the crook of his arm and 
pulled him back. He jammed the men 
roughly together. Weaponless against 
his superior strength, they were quite 
helpless. 

He glared at them. 

"If you so much as move, I'll kill 
you!" he threatened. 

They showed no inclination to dis- 
obey. 

Mickey slipped into the pilot's seat 
and, eye on the three frightened men, 
circled and pointed the car in a direc- 
tion at right angles to a long pale streak 
which was growing on the eastern hori- 
zon. The men had to be dropped, and 
before daylight. Their thoughts were 
highly dangerous. 

Well into the mountains he set down 
the car and pushed them out. They 
would quickly bring rescue with their 
thoughts, but with luck he might have 
a couple of hours. He needed time! 
He had become a fugitive! 

So far he had acted without premedi- 
tation, urged by an overpowering in- 
stinct to flee. But now, suddenly, he 
saw he had acted like the imbecile he 
was. The car was hardly off the ground 
before he realized there was no place 
he could flee to! Not with the faintest 
chance of remaining uncaught. Etern- 
ally he was a damned and helpless in- 
ferior. Of all the men in the world, 
he, unable to teleget, he, with most 


MYSTERY OF THE BLUE GOD 


powerful thought waves and unable to 
wall them, would have least chance to 
get safely away and remain unappre- 
hended! 

Dawn was at hand. The alarm might 
already have gone out for him, for the 
aircar's walls would not have com- 
pletely blocked those three men's 
waves. He didn't know what to do. 
There was nothing, except, perhaps, 
flight down through the underground 
city, a short time of skulking, a human 
rat in that inky tomb of a vanished 
race, then slow weakening from thirst 
and starvation, and a lonely, horrible 
death. 

Suddenly he knew he had to see 
Marta. He flicked on the intercom- 
municator at his side and put in a 
message. Then he pointed his car to- 
ward that place he had been so glad 
to escape from just a little while before 
— the exit of the underground city. 

CHAPTER VII 

Marta Takes a Hand 

jy^ARTA was waiting for him there 
when he arrived. She slipped in- 
side quickly. With a cry he opened his 
arms to greet her, but to his surprise 
she avoided them and held something 
to his lips. 

"Swallow these," she ordered hur- 
riedly. 

Wondering, he obeyed. At once he 
felt his tension slipping away from him. 
Marta explained: 

"I heard the news. Your thoughts 
would be killing all the birds, so I 
brought you those bromide tablets — 
triple dose; we give them to the vio- 
lently insane. Are you violently insane, 
Mickey? They'll deaden you con- 
siderably." She was smiling slightly 
as she finished. 

They were wonderfully soothing. 
Even his pressing tragedy seemed a 


77 

little dulled. 

"They think I killed Talber," he told 
Marta. 

"Did you?" she asked, watching him 
narrowly. 

For a second Mickey could only stare 
at her. 

"How can you ask that!" he cried at 
last, hurt deeply. 

Marta smiled again. "I only wanted 
your reaction," she explained. "Mickey, 
darling, I don't believe you did it, and 
I know you don't think you did, but it 
still is possible. I just say possible. 
You were under considerable emotional 
stress last night. Where have you been 
since I left you?" 

Mickey told her everything. His 
finding of the hand struck her with 
particular force. He should have sup- 
posed she would react more to the un- 
known voice in the laboratory. 

"Mickey, they have a picture," she 
stated suddenly; " — taken at the mo- 
ment of Talber's death. It's that which 
makes them suspect you." 

"In heaven's name, explain," Mickey 
begged. 

"They got it at the hospital," Marta 
said. "When I brought in Talber, the 
physicians too thought he might have 
been murdered, so before starting to 
bring him back they made a special 
test. As you know, the retina of the 
eye is a web of nerves which contain 
protoplasm sensitive to light — that is, 
they are affected by light; there's a 
chemical change; it's a process of me- 
tabolism. For a short time after death 
millions of minute chemical differentials 
persist, in exact relation to the last 
thing the eye beheld. Now, the hospital 
has an apparatus optically sensitive to 
these differentials. It can be focussed 
on the retina of the dead eye, and record 
them in the black and white of a photo- 
graphic image." Here Marta stopped 
and averted her eyes. 


78 


AMAZING STORIES 


"And?" asked Mickey, deeply afraid. 
"They used it. The photograph they 
got showed your face." 

"QH I DIDN'T do it, Marta!" 

Mickey cried, aghast. "I loved 
Talber like a father ! I couldn't have ! " 

"But you could," Marta said. "I 
mean you had the opportunity. You 
told me you thought you dozed. The 
figure of Talber you saw may have been 
nothing but a flash of guilty memory." 
She smiled tenderly. "Mickey, even 
if you did do it, it wouldn't make a bit 
of difference in my feelings; but I hon- 
estly don't think you did." 

"But that photograph!" Mickey re- 
minded her. "How did my face get 
in it?" 

"It must be someone else's." 

"Then I have an unknown twin 
brother," Mickey said ironically. 
"There can't be anyone else who re- 
sembles me. Not me." 

"It might be a brother," Marta said 
levelly. "You didn't grow up a mem- 
ber of any ordinary family group." 

"Oh, but that's highly improbable!" 
Mickey objected seriously. "It's ridic- 
ulous!" 

"It's fantastic, I admit — but the man 
who was with Talber when he was killed 
looks like you. And the man who 
hypnotized you in that same place had 
a voice something like yours ; you said 
so. Tell me," she went on, suddenly 
eager; "that hand — did it feel like your 
own? I mean, was there any resem- 
blance in it to your own hand? Did 
you notice?" 

"You think maybe this hypothetical 
brother of mine — twin brother — may 
have lost it when the laboratory blew 
up?" Mickey asked. 

"It might be a good thing if they 
could find in the wreckage a — a face 
like yours." 

Mickey shuddered, but tried hard to 


recollect his impression of that hand. 
He shook his head. 

"I can't remember," he said. "All I 
know, it was ghastly, there in the dark. 
I threw it away, twice." 

Marta was silent for a moment; then 
she said flatly: 

"Talber was experimenting. He had 
a secret. That's why he enjoined you to 
throw that switch in the event of his 
death. That's why he ran and did it 
himself, the first thing, when he was re- 
vived. He was afraid!" 

"Marta," said the young man, look- 
ing her steadily in the eyes, " — put it in 
direct words. Say you think Talber was 
experimenting on human beings." 

"He was experimenting, he had a se- 
cret, two men look alike, he was afraid," 
Marta answered not flinching. 

TT was too fantastic. Mickey had to 
smile. He said: 

"It seems I am either a murderer or 
a mutation. On and on to new heights 
of lowness." 

"Don't, darling," Marta begged. "It 
might be other things. You and I can't 
imagine all the possibilities. For in- 
stance, Talber may have had your pic- 
ture placed before him as he died. Fan- 
tastic? Of course! But everything here 
is fantastic. For all I know it may have 
been a visual hallucination, functioning 
in reverse of the known process, which 
set your image on Talber's retina. Lots 
of things work by reverse that way. It 
could be still other things. At the 
moment we can't know. We don't have 
enough facts." 

"Has it occurred to the geniuses," 
Mickey went on bitterly, "that they 
might learn something by digging in the 
wreckage of that laboratory?" 

"They'll certainly do that soon, now 
that it's light." 

"Have they then any chance of mak- 
ing the great discovery that they can 


MYSTERY OF THE BLUE GOD 


79 


hypnotize Talber, and get all the facts 

direct?" 

"Talber won't be revived," Marta 
said gloomily. "He's dead. Finally." 

That was that. 

Marta suddenly brightened. 

"Mickey!" she cried, "—maybe you 
have facts that can be brought up! 
There was that time you dozed — and 
what happened after you were hypno- 
tized by that voice! " 

Mickey did not catch any of her en- 
thusiasm. 

"One thing or the other, I'd end in 
the lethal chamber," he said. "I'm just 
no damn good. I cause nothing but 
trouble." 

He started to tell her about his vague 
plan to hide in the underground city, 
but she would not listen. 

"Let me sit there!" she ordered. "I'm 
going to hypnotize you myself; my 
guardian has the apparatus and he's 
away!" 

Mickey began to fire a little. He let 
her take his place. 

Not long after he lay in a jungle of 
apparatus while Marta tried to fit on 
him a headpiece that was much too 
large. Imperceptibly, volition left him. 

CHAPTER VIII 
Flight — and Return to Madness 

ATICKEY awoke in the aircar, far 
above earth, at a spoken com- 
mand. There was only the risen sun and 
the change in environment to tell him 
that a small slice had been cut from his 
life. Marta was looking at him. 

"Don't be alarmed at where you 
are," she said. "It was much safer to 
get you up here before letting your 
thoughts begin to generate." 

"Well?" Mickey asked. 

She smiled at the eagerness on his 
face. 


"I don't think you did it," she told 
him. 

"But couldn't you find out for sure?" 
he asked, surprised. 

She shook her head. 

"I had trouble with you," she said. 
"The helmet wouldn't adjust to fit you 
— and of course I'm no psychiatrist. 
But I'm sure you didn't! From every 
angle I probed, your answers came 
clear. But heavens, Mickey darling, 
you're fuller of cross-currents than a 
cat is of fleas!" 

Mickey's face showed some disap- 
pointment. 

"That man with the voice — who was 
he?" he asked. 

"I couldn't find out," Marta said 
with feeling. "It may be because he 
left you with strong post-hypnotic sug- 
gestions; I don't know; it was very dif- 
ficult there; but you told me once that 
your eyes were closed all the time, and 
I'm pretty sure you never saw him. 
But some things came easily." 

"Tell me!" Mickey begged eagerly. 

"It's very curious, and I don't under- 
stand it, but all the man seems to have 
done was question you. He questioned 
you for some time. Mostly about things 
of a personal nature, your age, how you 
grew up, your friends, all about me, 
your place in society, your relations 
with Talber; but also details about the 
social organization and current tech- 
nology. Questions such as an ignorant 
man from another planet might ask. 
Does this make sense to you?" 

"No," admitted Mickey. 

"Nor to me. It's absurd to imagine 
that some lone, ignorant interplanetary 
or interdimensional traveler, coincident- 
ally looking and talking like you, landed 
underground in Talber's laboratory, 
murdered him, then was all afire to find 
out how long you've known me, if 
thought waves can be recorded, how 
quickly insanity can be cured, and a 


80 


AMAZING STORIES 


mess of other stuff like that!" 

"Is that what you got out of my 
head?" Mickey asked. 

"Yes." 

"Then I must be crazy after all." 

"I got something else," Marta went 
on, " — something you should have told 
me but didn't. It's about that hand. 
The second time you picked it up you 
noticed that between the fingers, where 
they join the hand, there were slight 
webs — like those on the feet of a duck, 
but very rudimentary." 

— that," Mickey said, suddenly 
remembering. "I guess I did think 
I noticed something of the kind, but it 
was only a flash, and afterwards I was 
sure I was mistaken. I forgot all about 
it." 

"That may be," Marta said, "but you 
know of the mind's 'forgetting mechan- 
ism,' which causes people to 'forget' 
things with unpleasant or painful as- 
sociations. I think — remember, I'm no 
expert — but I think, in this case, that 
that mechanism may have operated. 
Can you think of any reason why it 
might have?" 

"No," Mickey said. 

"I think it may still be operating," 
Marta observed with a smile. "Suppose 
— just suppose — Talber was experi- 
menting with human mutations. That 
would be a painful thing for you to dis- 
cover, wouldn't it?" 

"You mean, that thought might have 
occurred to me on feeling the webs — 
but was at once repressed, deep in my 
unconscious, as incompatible with my 
regard for Talber?" 

"Exactly." 

"It's possible, I guess," Mickey said. 
"But naturally I can't tell you I be- 
lieve it." 

"Of course you can't," Marta agreed. 
"Oh, I may be wrong! If it had been 
anything but a bloody hand I might 


have been able to detect whether there 
was any incongruousness between the 
cause and its emotional effect. But as 
it was, the problem would have stumped 
a psychiatrist, I'm sure. 

"Darling, if I could only have fitted 
that headpiece ! I never realized you had 
such a small head!" 

"If I had a larger one I'd never have 
fallen for you," Mickey told her. 

Marta laughed. 

"Don't start thinking about me," she 
warned. "You'll begin to super- 
generate ! " 

Mickey sat silent for a moment, lost 
in thought. 

"Maybe you're right about that 
hand," he said at length. "And Talber." 

"And about your being innocent!" 
Marta added. "Of course I'm right. I 
always am." 

"Something tells me I'm a mutation," 
Mickey said, again in deep gloom. 

"O. K.," Marta replied cheerfully. 
"I'd love you if your parents were mon- 
keys and you were born in a test tube ! " 

Mickey grabbed and hugged her. Al- 
ways the woman, she found that a good 
moment for something she had in mind 

"T^ARLING, give yourself up," she 
suddenly pleaded in a low voice. 
"At my hospital. I'll go with you. You 
couldn't hide out a day before they'd 
have you. There'll be no lethal cham- 
ber — that's silly. They'll hypnotize you, 
tap your unconscious expertly, and find 
that you're innocent. I'm positive you 
are! And they may find other facts, 
important ones. It's so mixed up; all 
we can do is guess. Even if you should 
turn out to be a mutation, they wouldn't 
do anything to you for that. But I don't 
believe you're one — not unless I'm one 
too. No — we're both of the old line. 
And some day we're going to get mar- 
ried, and have children of the old line 
to prove it. Only — you have to give 


MYSTERY OF THE BLUE SOD 


81 


yourself up." 

She stopped. Mickey was holding out 
his hands, palms up. 

"I notice you cleaned me up a bit," 
he said. 

"You were filthy," she explained. 

Keeping his eyes on her he then 
pointed down through the floor glass of 
the car. 

"I also notice we've been right over 
the hospital for the last five minutes," 
he said. "Quite a coincidence." 

"It's not a coincidence," Marta ad- 
mitted boldly. 

Mickey said, "I'd rather be a dead 
mutation than a managed husband." 

"You imbecile!" exclaimed Marta. 
"I've been managing you for ten 
months! Here we go!" 

She laid hand on the elevator, and 
the car eased into its long drop. 

T^HEY left the car on the parking 
area and hand in hand walked up 
the wide path to the entrance. The ro- 
bot in the lobby automatically noted 
their arrival as they passed by it and 
turned toward the large reception room. 

"No robots from now," Marta said. 
"You'll be handled by humans only, 
and treated with the utmost sympathy. 
Almost all our cases are mental, in early 
stages. They don't get very bad any 
more without detection." 

The reception room was empty. 
Somewhat surprised, Marta conducted 
her fugitive-patient through a corridor 
which led to the resident doctors' 
lounge. When she opened the door an 
extremely odd tableau lay revealed. 

A dozen buff-smocked physicians and 
psychiatrists of both sexes stood at ran- 
dom in various parts of the room, each 
one facing in a different direction and 
looking slightly upward in a pose of 
rapt, motionless attention. They seemed 
to be telegetting, and receiving with 
pure reverence the message being trans- 


mitted. The message was of consider- 
able intensity, for in Marta herself 
there had existed, for the past few 
minutes, a faint "feeling." 

She stood and looked with the great- 
est surprise. The attitudes of the doc- 
tors did not change. 

"Is this perhaps the violent ward?" 
Mickey whispered. 

She shushed him. 

As she did so a shocking thing hap- 
pened. One of the physicians, a young 
man, went out of his head. They saw 
his quiet pose break, his face contort; 
and then his mouth opened in a long, 
irregular burst of crazy laughter. Most 
surprising of all, not one of his confreres 
paid any attention to this! They re- 
mained as they were, and the unfor- 
tunate young man, breaking off his 
laugh, stumbled through a circle with a 
wild and tortured look on his face and 
then fell at length on the floor, where he 
jerked with convulsions. 

Marta stared, then she ran forward 
and tugged at the arm of the nearest of 
the standing doctors, a woman; but to 
her amazement even that did not suc- 
ceed in getting any attention. She tried 
again with another, a man, but he 
merely disengaged her hand and con- 
tinued his rapt telegetting. 

For a moment Marta stood motion- 
less again, appalled. 

"This is hypnotism!" she cried then 
to Mickey. "Mass hypnotism! Come 
with me!" 

gHE ran back out into the corridor 
and up a flight of steps into a ward. 
The nurses there were showing the 
same amazing behavior, except that two 
of them, males, were rolling back and 
forth on the floor, blood-flecked foam 
at their lips, while a woman marched 
senselessly up and down the room. One 
of the patients sat at the head of his 
bed smiling benignly over the mad 


82 


AMAZING STORIES 


scene, all his bedclothes wrapped 
around him. Another was under his bed, 
only his feet sticking out. 

"This is terrible!" Marta exclaimed. 
"Every one's hypnotized! It's a mass 
phenomenon! It's being done over the 
air, by thought wave!" 

"But why are those men rolling 
around?" Mickey asked. "That's a fun- 
ny kind of hypnotism." 

"I don't know," Marta answered. 
"Something is being transmitted, very 
powerfully; I can feel it, but can't make 
out what it is. How can I find out?" She 
stood a moment thinking. Then, 
"Wait!" she cried. "I know what. 
There's a case of echolalia. Follow 
me." 

She hurried out of the ward and up 
another flight of steps to the floor above. 
As she went she explained over her 
shoulder : 

"It's a marked case. A kind of in- 
sanity. We haven't got to work on him 
yet. In echolalia the patient shows a 
strong tendency to repeat, like an echo, 
things spoken or transmitted to him. 
Here." 

She stopped before the door of a pri- 
vate room. Nearby in the corridor stood 
an attendant, smiling foolishly. He let 
her take his keys from his belt without 
protest, and with one of them she 
opened the door. Mickey followed her 
in. 

The room was occupied by a very 
old man, feeble and emaciated, but with 
a distinguished face and carriage. As 
they entered he turned at an angle to 
them, an absent frown on his face. 

"I am coming," he said— but this 
seemed to have no meaning. Marta 
went close to him. 

"What is it you hear, Myntel?" she 
asked. 

"What is it you hear, Myntel?" re- 
peated the old man, like a parrot. 
Marta tried again. 


"Listen," she said, and was about to 
go on when the man repeated: 
"Listen." 

"There's a thought message," Marta 
went on hurriedly. "What does it say?" 

"There's a thought message," the old 
man repeated. "What does it say?" 

Marta made a gesture of annoyance. 
They waited. 

"Nice place you have here," Mickey 
observed suddenly. 

"Nice place," said the old man. 

Marta managed Mickey with a look. 
The two waited some more. 

""pHE old man showed no sign of tele- 
getting anything unusual. He fussed 
about the bed, then feebly tried to pull 
off the mattress. His movements were 
quite without purpose. But in the mid- 
dle of them, without stopping, he spoke 
again. 

"The Blue God comes," he said, in 
the same parrotlike tone as before. "The 
Blue God, strong and beautiful, comes 
to Earth." 

Here he ceased speaking, but he con- 
tinued tugging at the mattress. Mickey 
and Marta exchanged looks of amaze- 
ment. The patient resumed suddenly, 
still showing no sign that he was tele- 
getting. 

"I am not white in color, but a sur- 
passingly lovely blue. I am wise beyond 
all imagining." Again the old man 
stopped speaking. Then he went on: 
"You will love me; you'll adore me." 
Pause. "I have come to lead you, come 
to lead you, come to lead you, come to 
lead you—" The mattress fell off. 

Marta tossed her head in annoyance. 
These cases — indeed, many insane 
cases, sometimes repeated a phrase 
endlessly. The old man lay down on the 
floor and tried futilely to wrap the thick 
mattress about him ; but this seemed to 
tire him, for he soon stopped and lay 
very still. Marta stepped over and 


MYSTERY OF THE BLUE SOD 


83 


prodded him with her foot. 

"Speak ! " she ordered. 

"Speak!" he repeated. 

They waited. Again he parroted the 
thoughts reaching him. 

" You will know me by my lovely blue 
color." Pause. "Blue are my eyes, my 
skin, my hair." Pause. I am nearly two 
meters tall, broad in the shoulders, and 
strong as were the men of past ages." 
Pause. "Among you lives the man 
Mickey, whom you call an imbecile." 
Pause — while Mickey jerked with 
amazement. "For reasons which I 
soon will make known, I have sent him 
on before me." Pause. "He it is who 
in body and features I resemble." 
Pause. "Though not in color, for I am 
of a surpassingly beautiful blue." Pause. 
"And wise, and wise, and wise, and 
wise," — pause — "beyond-the-imagin- 
ing-of-men." The old man finished this 
in a rush. 

CHAPTER IX 

Mickey Becomes a God 

lyTARTA fairly pulled the astounded 
Mickey out into the corridor. 

"You see?" she asked excitedly. 

He could see nothing at all. 

"It's that other— the one who mur- 
dered Talber — the one of the photo- 
graph, who resembles you!" 

"Yes, but — " began Mickey halt- 
ingly. 

"He's a mutation!" Marta cried. "I 
know what's happening! I know! This 
is my business! He's making himself 
acceptable!" 

"You mean — " 

"Oh Mickey, I know! This is my 
business ! The man's a mutant. At any 
rate his color is blue, all blue. And he 
must have remarkable powers. He is 
now in process of making himself ac- 
ceptable. With his blue color people 


would loathe him, and as a marked 
mutant he would be hunted down and 
confined or even destroyed. More than 
that, he seems to be aiming to steal 
control of the country. He's putting 
over a tremendous mass hypnotism. 
He's caught everyone completely off 
guard, just as he did you! A well hyp- 
notized person believes anything the 
hypnotist tells him, however illogical 
and ridiculous!" 

"But — but — " began the flabber- 
gasted Mickey, "to me he just seems to 
be making them crazy. Half of them 
are completely out of control!" 

"Ah no — that's the proof of what I 
say!" Marta went on. "By that mes- 
sage he is setting up powerful conflicts. 
There can hardly be a person alive to 
whom the thought of a blue man would 
not be disgusting, and there certainly is 
none who when normal would stomach 
for one second the idea that any god, es- 
pecially a blue one, was coming to 'lead' 
him. He's violating most powerful in- 
stincts. But he's got to do it, to make 
himself acceptable! With the people 
we've seen he seems to be succeeding, 
thanks to the power of his transmission 
and his trick of catching them all off 
guard. The differences in reaction are 
the result of different personal equa- 
tions. Some, unable to reconcile their 
normal attitudes with his revolting sug- 
gestions, break down under their inter- 
nal conflict and escape into insanity!" 

Marta spoke with overpowering con- 
viction. It sounded rational to Mickey. 
And after all, as she had said, this was 
her business. 

"The question is, over how great an 
area is he exerting this hypnosis?" 
Marta went on. "From its success here 
it might be thought he is somewhere in 
the neighborhood, close by; but I rather 
doubt this. Why should he concentrate 
on this rural area? He must at least be 
covering the City. Don't you think?" 


84 


AMAZING STORIES 


"My God!" Mickey said. "And he 
looks like me!" 

"He's related to you, and I was 
wrong," Marta corrected inexorably. 
"Come, you mutant," she went on, "let's 
get into the City and see what's hap- 
pening there!" 

CTIIX catching up with Marta's rush 
of amazing ideas, Mickey followed 
her out of the hospital and into the air- 
car. In a moment they were high in the 
air, headed for the City, ten kilometers 
away. 

Marta was thrilled over the logical 
structure she so quickly had built with 
her explanations. As they went she 
added confirming bricks. 

"The only lucky ones are stupids like 
you and me, for we aren't getting his 
messages. The whole business is rela- 
tive. Speaking generally, one is hypno- 
tizable in direct proportion to one's in- 
telligence. I'm getting only a dull, inde- 
scribable feeling. The upper classes are 
getting the actual messages, and the 
brainiest of all are the ones who are 
going under first, and most completely. 
At first crack this mutant relative of 
yours has taken all our leaders right out 
of the play! Except maybe for a few in 
thought-proof laboratories, who will go 
under as soon as they emerge. The city 
will be chaos, mark my words. There'll 
be a tremendous job, re-conditioning 
all the insane after he has finished with 
them." 

"I don't get anything at all," said 
Mickey, a little glumly. 

Marta was tactful. Patting his hand 
and including herself, she said: 

"We're both very lucky. And maybe, 
since we have special knowledge about 
this Blue God, and are among the very 
few people left normal, we may be able 
to do something. It would be wonder- 
fully ironical if a couple of stupids like 
us were instrumental in saving the civi- 


lization of all the helpless geniuses. 
They might let us marry, Mickey! And 
if that's no inducement, you should 
want to meet this relative of yours for 
personal reasons!" 

Up to now Mickey, snowed under 
with surprises, had been merely tagging 
along after Marta's ideas, but at her 
last words he caught up. 

"Yes," he agreed firmly, "I would 
like to meet him. And perhaps we can 
do something. If only," he added with a 
wry smile, "to save what we can of the 
family honor." 

"You have remarkable relatives," 
Marta said, smiling at him gaily. "Re- 
markable powers. Thoughts and emo- 
tions strong, like yours." 

"All this is only supposition and 
wishful thinking," Mickey retorted, 
"We'll see what we see." 

The outskirts of the city passed be- 
neath them. From their height they 
could gain no inkling of how the inhab- 
itants were behaving. Early as it was, 
thousands would be up and about. 

Marta pressed forward steadily, then 
lowered and set down at the edge of the 
midtown landing area. 

■y^/TTHOUT getting out of the car 
they saw that she had been right 
in supposing that the City would be af- 
fected. Of the several score people close 
by, two out of three stood or walked as 
is listening to divinity. Each of the 
others had his own variety of insane 
behavior, much of it grotesque. Some 
ran and gesticulated, some stood on the 
heavy plastic benches and addressed 
the four winds, two, quite near, were in 
a tree. One shed his clothes, and a wom- 
an ran after him and pulled his gar- 
ments over her own. Many lay down 
and kicked and rolled. Men and wom- 
en, every one, took part in the general 
frenzy. It was a world gone mad. 
Although Marta had predicted it, she 


MYSTERY OF THE BLUE SOD 


85 


was almost overcome at the sight. She 
opened the door of the car, and then 
they got the babble of accompanying 
sounds. 

"Their inner conflicts must be terri- 
ble!" Marta exclaimed compassion- 
ately. "So many of them have been un- 
able to reconcile the hypnotic com- 
mands with their elemental instincts!" 

They sat there and watched, fasci- 
nated. 

"There is a spatial factor," Mickey 
said at length, thoughtfully. "The ef- 
fect — or at least the intensity of the 
waves — should be proportional to the 
distance from the point of origin; but 
the effect on the people here seems no 
different from that shown by those at 
the hospital. We may be fairly sure 
there is only one point of origin — the 
mutant's head — because it is highly im- 
probable that there is more than one, 
and because there is no known way to 
record the microscopic thought wave for 
intelligible re-transmission. You remem- 
ber that was one of the questions asked 
me, when I was hypnotized in the lab- 
oratory. 

"Now that is very interesting. Marta, 
if you were the mutant and had this 
power, where would you place yourself 
to exert it? Do you think it likely he 
would try to overcome the country, city 
by city? Surely not. For at least two 
reasons: it would take a long time, and 
it would bring quick and certain coun- 
ter-measures from the untouched cities. 
But, if we assume he is telecasting 
from one point — say right here — with 
amplification enough to affect the peo- 
ple of the West Coast, he would just 
about kill the people nearby — wouldn't 
he?" 

"No," corrected Marta, interrupting; 
"beyond a certain intensity people's 
brains would just get numb, and be- 
yond that they'd fall unconscious." 

"No matter," Mickey said. "You see 


what I'm driving at. There's an inten- 
sity differential, and he has to take ac- 
count of it. The logic of the situation 
prevents both place-after-place and 
one-point general transmission from 
the ground; so — " 

"He would have to transmit from 
high in the air," picked up Marta. "Oh, 
it would have to be very high, if he 
wanted to cover the whole continent at 
once. He would need a space ship." 

"That's it exactly," Mickey replied. 
"I wonder if we can get anyone to as- 
certain the direction of the transmission 
for us. I know it's beyond me." 

"The radio-technies can — or could, 
if they were normal," Marta replied. 

"And they're over in the Communi- 
cations Building," Mickey added 
quickly. "Come on, gal, and we'll see 
what we can do." 

HpHEY stepped out, crossed the park, 
and for several blocks picked their 
way amid an indescribable confusion 
of addled citizens. But to their dismay 
the building was not yet open for the 
day, and the mighty robot on watch at 
the entrance would not let them by. 

This was serious. Neither could 
think of any other good point of attack. 

They had come to realize fully their 
responsibility. Only imbeciles and mo- 
rons were immune to the hypnotizing 
messages; and of the insignificant 
handful of such lowly citizens in the 
country, no one else possessed their spe- 
cial knowledge. All hope of salvaging 
the situation rested squarely on them, 
and particularly on what they might be 
able to accomplish in that building. But 
— they could not get by the robot at the 
door! 

It was extremely unlikely that, alone, 
they could overcome it. And — dismay- 
ing thought — even if they did, how were 
they to get a crew of addled technies to 
give their help? Marta had not been 


86 


AMAZING STORIES 


able even to get the attention of those 
two doctors back in the hospital. 

They looked at each other, worried, 
wondering — and then Mickey suddenly 
chuckled. The chuckle continued, and 
grew into a repressed laugh that itself 
continued. He seemed simply bursting 
with amusement. Marta looked at him 
sharply, suddenly fearful that he too 
had been affected. He bent and whis- 
pered in her ear — and then she too 
laughed. 

Mickey had decided to become a god. 
A blue god. 

In a nearby store Marta bought the 
dye, and in a small room off the public 
lounge, she applied it. To his arms, to 
his legs, to his face and neck, and to 
his hair. 

CHAPTER X 

A Blue God Declares War 

"tTOW do I look?" Mickey asked. 

1 "Dreadful! Nine days 
drowned!" 

"Then I should look very much like a 
blue god." 

"The shade's a bit dark for your sur- 
passing type of beauty. I think a little 
toward the yellow or perhaps the green, 
would be more becoming," Marta said 
critically, head on one side. She saw a 
few spots she had missed. "I wonder 
what the color for imbecile gods is, this 
year," she added, touching them up. 

"At any rate, while I last they're go- 
ing to accept me for the Blue God," 
Mickey said with determination. "I'll 
make them! I'll hypnotize 'em myself! 
You said my thoughts would be a-kill- 
ing the birds — but shucks, you've never 
seen me bust loose. I'll blow their 
fuses!" 

"Such power!" Marta said. "Seems 
to run in the family." 

"I shan't have to let loose, though. 


Just my ordinary working intensity. 
My public's been well prepared. I 
might say they're crazy to see me." 

"Yes, crazy," murmured Marta, still 
busy with handkerchief and bottle. 

"You know, it's very decent of the 
Blue God to tell everyone I look like 
him. Helps one up the ladder. There's 
nothing like a little influence in the high 
places." 

Marta stood back a little, finished. 
"You look dreadful!" she exclaimed 
again. 

Mickey laughed, then turned more 
serious. 

"Come on," he said, "and cross your 
fingers if you see another Blue God." 

Partly shielding himself behind 
Marta, he slipped across the corner of 
the lounge and into a service hallway. 
They took the stairs to the ground level. 
The door, there, opened into a side 
street. Peeping, they saw that four men 
were out on the pavement. One was 
sitting and muttering, one was lying on 
the curb about to roll off, and the other 
two were on their feet, smiling idioti- 
cally. 

"Not quite the most impressive set- 
ting for the appearance of a Blue God," 
Mickey said, "but it will have to do, I 
guess. Here we plunge, Marta. Be re- 
spectful, now, and keep a little behind." 
With the last words he stepped boldly 
out on the pavement and Marta fol- 
lowed as directed. 

AT once, together, the two men on 
their feet turned and looked at 
Mickey. He saw their eyes nearly pop 
out of their heads, but, never hesitating, 
he passed by them and started toward 
the corner of the building, where lay 
the main street. 

Like magic the many people in the 
intersection turned toward him and 
stared. Several cried out. Mickey 
hoped this quick attention was a good 


MYSTERY OF THE BLUE SOD 


87 


thing, on the theory he should be 
seen by as many people as possible on 
his initial appearance. At any rate, he 
was in for it now! With the dignity of 
a god — though a little weak in the 
knees — he strode slowly toward them. 

His psyche had waited for that mo- 
ment. Now that he was committed to 
the adventure, it began popping a whole 
flock of alarming questions in his head. 
What messages was the Blue God trans- 
mitting at that moment? Would they 
conflict with what he, Mickey, was do- 
ing and cause the people to reject him? 
Would the Blue God, wherever he was, 
teleget the fraud and proceed to take 
steps? And most frightening of all, 
would Mickey's own irrepressible un- 
Blue Godlike thoughts betray him to 
the people as the impostor he was? He 
might be mobbed ! But with the dignity 
of a god — though now a bit wobbly in 
the knees — he strode ahead. 

People piled into the corner from all 
directions and stood staring, motioning, 
exclaiming. Then several began to 
move toward him, and at once all the 
others began to follow. Several then 
began to run, and in a few seconds all 
were running. A yelling mob swept 
down on him! 

Out of the medulla of the adrenals of 
the god Mickey flowed minute droplets 
of a liquid, and a pair of quite wobbly 
knees stiffened. He would not harbor 
any thought incongrouous with his im- 
posture. He would not only act like a 
god but he'd think like one. I am the 
Blue God, he told himself. I am the 
Blue God. I have come to lead these 
mortals. 

The van of the flood swept to within 
five meters of him, then parted to the 
sides and tried to stop. The waves be- 
hind crowded on their heels, piled up, 
and pushed them on, and in an instant 
the dyed god was enfolded in a bedlam. 
Women shrieked, men shouted, all 


shoved toward the divine center. The 
vacant ring around Mickey narrowed 
and disappeared in the efforts of every- 
one to get close to his person and stay 
there. Some tried to kneel before him, 
others to touch him, still others to kiss 
his clothes. Some, relatively stable till 
then, went stark mad. Dozens fell down 
and were trampled. This was being 
mobbed in a way he had not expected, 
but equally dangerous ! 

"Peace!" yelled Mickey suddenly, 
holding up one arm. "Stand back from 
the Blue God!" 

With one movement the mob rolled 
back from him. 

"Silence in the presence of the Blue 
God!" he thundered. 

A S if a speaker had been switched off, 
the crowd fell silent. 
God Mickey improved the opportu- 
nity. 

"I am the Blue God!" he orated, a 
little out of breath. "I have come to 
lead you. I am blue, a most surpassing 
blue. I am wise, wise beyond dreams 
of wisdom. You will not touch your god, 
mortals. Make way!" 

Impressively he turned and sneaked 
a look at Marta. She was still there be- 
hind him, chin high but trembling. Just 
as impressively he faced back, then 
started ahead again, striding as godlike 
as he could over a half dozen men who 
lay jerking and kicking in his way. 
More and more people appeared. He 
reached the corner. 

The mob grew; the new arrivals 
pushed, cried out, climbed each other 
to see him. Mickey stopped and again 
gave his spiel. 

"Peace!" he thundered. "Shove not! 
Yell not! Touch me not! I am your 
Blue God. You will not be afraid, for 
I have come to help you. I love you! 
You love me! Don't fail to respect the 
great white goddess, my consort, who 


88 


AMAZING STORIES 


follows me!" 

Mickey would not have believed it 
possible, but he began really to feel like 
a god. In these few minutes layers of 
inferiority were falling away from him. 

He drew near the entrance to the 
Communications Building. An uncrazy 
robot still guarded the entrance. Mick- 
ey turned to the adoring mob and again 
raised his arm. 

"The Blue God chooses to enter 
here," he told them. "If there is one 
among you with the authority, he will 
speak to the guardian robot so that I 
may pass." 

A half dozen men leaped out of the 
crowd and ran to the mechanism. That 
creation, unadjusted for any situation 
involving the arrival of a god, calmly 
told them to stand back and wait for the 
proper opening of the building. This 
stopped the men. Apparently they were 
mere willing Willies, lacking the author- 
ity needed. Boldly, then, Mickey or- 
dered: 

"Rush the robotl Derange it I " 
In one wave the mob poured on the 
unfortunate mechanism. Its great metal 
arms struck out vigorously; heads 
cracked, and broken human bodies 
went sailing through the air. But the 
mob never faltered, and in only a few 
seconds the controls of the robot were 
reached and it settled back on it heels, 
motionless and helpless. 

HTHOUGH sickened at the blood and 
mangled bodies, Mickey managed 
to step with some appearance of dig- 
nity through the mess, and then turned. 
Marta, he saw with relief, was still 
there, chin up but quivering. The mob 
was again restless and unquiet. Mickey 
decided he had better prepare it against 
excesses while he was out of sight. He 
held up his arm. 

"Silence!" he thundered. 

There was silence. It came so quickly 


that it was almost frightening, even to 
a Blue God. 

"I shall go into this building and re- 
main awhile," Mickey told them. "I de- 
sire to be undisturbed by any clamor. 
You will disperse, and go quietly to 
your homes or to your work. Tell all 
whom you meet, and all to whom you 
transmit, that the great Blue God has 
arrived. Warn everyone not to assem- 
ble here. Be quiet and orderly. Attend 
to the crushed and wounded. Now go!" 

Obediently the crowd began to dis- 
perse. Mickey and his consort turned 
and entered the building alone. 

Marta ran the elevator, and as they 
ascended Mickey dared to wink at her 
— but no more. At the top floor the 
door opened on a large and adoring 
group of radio-technies and other 
workers, waiting to receive them. Mick- 
ey stretched himself another centimeter 
and stepped out of the elevator in the 
way he felt a god should. 

"Rise," he said to the technie nearest 
to him, who was on his knees. The man 
obeyed, a look of worship on his face. 
"I am your Blue God," said Mickey, 
and went on with the rigmarole he had 
given below, and which now came quite 
naturally to his lips. No use taking 
chances. Finished, he ordered: 

"Conduct me to your transmission 
rooms." 

One of the group, the chief, appar- 
ently, bowed and pointed, then went 
humbly before, opening the proper 
doors and indicating the way. The 
others followed, a wild-eyed and ador- 
ing train. 

Arrived, Mickey found himself in an 
extremely large room containing trans- 
mission equipment of all kinds. He was 
ready with his procedure. 

"Attend me," he commanded the 
chief. "Do you maintain constant con- 
tact with all parts of the world?" he 
asked. 


MYSTERY OF THE BLUE GOD 


89 


TPHE chief kept his eyes humbly on 
Mickey's blue knees, and no answer 
passed his lips. 

"You will verbalize when answering," 
Mickey ordered serenely. "Now re- 
peat." 

"We maintain such contact, Master," 
came the respectful answer. 

"Over what area has my announce- 
ment of my arrival extended?" Mickey 
asked. 

"Only the North American Continent 
and adjacent portions, in a wide circle, 
have been so honored, Master," was the 
reply. 

"To what extent have the inhabitants 
so reached been receptive to my an- 
nouncement?" 

"They are all wholly your adoring 
subjects, Master." 

Mickey stretched again for that cen- 
timeter. With magnificent aplomb he 
said: 

"You are to know that I possess the 
power to transmit my thoughts from 
several directions at once. For instance, 
I am now standing before you, in my 
person, as you can see, but I am also 
broadcasting personal messages from a 
point or points outside this room. I 
choose to test your competence. From 
how many points in this continental cir- 
cle am I telecasting at this moment?" 

Never taking his eyes from Mickey's 
blue and now steady knees the man 
said: 

"Please be so gracious as to excuse a 
few seconds' wait." 

He remained motionless and silent, 
but a moment later the awe-stricken 
group of technies behind him flew apart 
and began working apparati in several 
parts of the room. A few seconds later 
the chief said to Mickey's knees : 

"Your thoughts come from but from 
one place outside this room, Master." 

"You will determine the direction 


and the distance of that point of origin," 
Mickey ordered. 

"Thank you, Master." 

The men flew to other apparati, and 
made careful adjustments and calcula- 
tions. The chief reported: 

"The point of origin is in nearby 
space, Master — 13,364.3 kilometers 
vertically over Toomey, in Region 
R-2." 

"You appear competent," Mickey al- 
lowed with easy condescension. "Check 
that point every three minutes, and in- 
form me at once if it moves, relative to 
Toomey. Also, at once, make contact 
with the official who has charge of the 
continent's space ships. Order him to 
make an instant check to determine if 
any ships are missing, or engaged in any 
illegal or unconventional activity, and if 
so how many, and of what type. Now, 
conduct me to a room with thought- 
proof walls. I want to be alone. You 
will bring your information to me 
there." 

The man bowed deeply. 

"As you command, Master," he said. 
"If you will be pleased to step this 
way." He indicated a door opening off 
the room. 

CERENELY, Mickey, followed by his 
consort, walked to it, turned and for 
a moment surveyed the room and its 
occupants, then entered and closed the 
door. 

"My God!" exclaimed Marta, ex- 
ploding with laughter. Like firecracker 
on firecracker she set Mickey, too, off, 
and they laughed till they both lay bent 
double on the floor, weak with belly 
pain. 

"My darling blue god — Mickey!" 
Marta said — tenderly and adoringly un- 
til she got to his name, when she ex- 
ploded and once more set him off. 

Mickey felt he would die with 
cramps, and it took a great effort to get 


90 


AMAZING STORIES 


to his feet. 

"Marta, this is serious!" he warned 
her when he had caught his breath. 
"Every human being on this continent 
is hypnotized! An egocentric mutant is 
taking over! A good part of the inhabi- 
tants are stark mad already, and in a 
few hours all the rest may go that way. 
Pull yourself together — and don't tempt 
me, either!" 

"Yes, my god," said Marta, still on 
the floor; but as she started off again 
there came a knock on the door and she 
stopped at once and got to her feet. 
When she had brushed the tears from 
her eyes Mickey opened the door. The 
chief stood there, eyes again on Mick- 
ey's knees. 

"All space ships are accounted for, 
Master, except one cargo carrier based 
at the Whitney yards, which disap- 
peared unaccountably just before dawn 
this morning. None of the crew is miss- 
ing. I beg you to pardon the delay, but 
the news of your arrival has caused a 
considerable disruption of our services." 

"I am not displeased," Mickey said. 
He asked: 

"Has there been any change in the 
point of origin of my messages from 
space?" 

"No, Master." 

"One thing more, then. I desire the 
use of the nearest space warship, fully 
armed and ready for action, and with a 
full complement of functionable officers 
and men. You will note that I said 
'functionable.' Contact the nearest 
one, and arrange that it be placed at 
my disposal." 

"Yes, Master." 

The man left. Marta was not laugh- 
ing now. 

"Mickey — what are you going to 
do?" she asked. 

"The obvious," was the reply. "What 
else? Blue God Number One is out 
there in space, deluging Earth with his 


hypnotizing suggestions. He must be 
stopped or destroyed. I, apparently, am 
the only man who is normal and has 
knowledge of the situation, so I must 
act. You will remain here." 

"No, no," Marta protested; "if you 
go, I go with you. Heavens knows what 
danger you may be exposing yourself 
to." 

"You'll stay here," Mickey told her 
firmly. "God's can't be managed. At 
least they shouldn't be." 

"Then they shouldn't have consorts," 
was her answer. 

Mickey had to smile. That seemed 
to settle it. 

The two waited, soberly discussing 
Mickey's plans. In a few minutes the 
chief knocked again, with the infor- 
mation that the warship was waiting. 
He had taken the liberty to order an 
aircar to wait for Mickey and his con- 
sort on the roof. 

He backed away from the door. 
Mickey stepped to one side and gave 
Marta a last hug. 

"How gruesome you are, darling!" 
Marta said. "Did I tell you that color's 
fast?" 

CHAPTER XI 

The Blue God 

T^HE officers and men of the space 
warship M-17 stood at awe-stricken 
attention, but as Mickey and Marta 
stepped out of the aircar they broke 
ranks and surrounded the two ador- 
ingly. 

"Back to your places!" thundered 
Mickey. To one who stood apart, and 
who was obviously the captain, he said 
imperiously: 

"Captain, you will escort me to the 
control room." 

Humbly, that man showed the way. 
Mickey, seeing it empty, lost no time. 


MYSTERY OF THE BLUE GOD 


91 


"You know who I am?" he asked 
"Yes, Master. You are the Blue 

God." 

"Are you at this moment receiving 
thought messages announcing my com- 
ing?" 

"Yes, Master." 

"How would you explain that, when 
I stand here before you?" 

"I cannot explain it," was the answer. 
The Blue God has unthinkable power." 

Mickey gave him the unthinkable ex- 
planation that he had given the chief of 
the technies — that he, the Blue God, 
was able to be in one place, yet at the 
same time send out messages originat- 
ing from another. He knew all along 
that it was not necessary to be logical 
with a hypnotized person, but he 
couldn't help saying something ; it made 
him feel better. He next asked: 

"Captain, to what extent are my 
waves blocked by the hull of this ship?" 

"The intensity of all thought waves 
is diminished by twenty-one per cent, 
Master," was the answer. "With all 
screens on this rises to twenty-seven." 

"Have you means to increase the 
blockage?" 

"No master. This ship, built for war, 
was by intention designed for their 
maximum receipt, because the chance 
overcatching of the enemy's intentions 
might be of inestimable advantage. My 
cubby, however, is proofed, and from 
within it, in battle, I can transmit my 
orders by wire in code. At that time the 
crew at their stations, perform merely 
mechanical acts, according to coded 
numbers they receive." 

Mickey listened carefully to this. 

"The intensity of my wave, at any 
point, will vary inversely as the square 
of the distance from its point of origin, 
will it not?" he began — but here Mick- 
ey made his first mistake as a psychol- 
ogist. Under the conditions of the hyp- 
notic state the man would believe every- 


thing told him, and so could only an- 
swer "yes" to a question phrased like a 
statement. Marta caught his eye and he 
realized this at once. He said quickly: 

"You will disregard that statement." 

"Yes, Master." 

■y^/TTH these words Mickey saw he 
had made another mistake — and 
Marta had noticed this one too. His 
order was quite unnecessary! He came 
as near blushing as a blue god can ; but 
then he tightened up and attacked from 
another angle. 

"What is the maximum distance at 
which you can focus on a space ship 
and with certainty destroy it?" he 
asked. 

"That depends on the circumstances, 
Master. Our beam is only a needle. In 
battle, at high speeds and accelerations, 
the distance would be of the order of a 
thousand kilometers for high probabil- 
ity of hitting. At lower speeds and ac- 
celeration it might be ten times that." 

"So," said the God Mickey. "Very 
well, Captain, my outside waves are or- 
iginating from a space point 13,364.3 
kilometers vertically above the town of 
Toomey, in Region R-2. By a coinci- 
dence that point of origin is now occu- 
pied by a space ship. The ship is mo- 
tionless, relative to Toomey. It is my 
will that the ship be destroyed. You will 
proceed toward it indirectly, at your 
maximum safe speed, in an arc of a cir- 
cle of about 13,000 kilometers' diame- 
ter, and so dispose your ship as to anni- 
hilate it with maximum certainty and 
minimum risk. I shall leave it to you 
to decide the distance at which to touch 
off. Am I understood?" 

"Perfectly, Master." 

"As soon as it is safe, turn on your 
screens. I want the minimum effect of 
that outside wave. Now give the neces- 
sary orders. Do not lose a second." 

"Yes, Master." 


92 


AMAZING STORIES 


The captain, like the chief of the 
technies, before, remained motionless. 
Men appeared in the control room and 
set to work. In a moment he said: 

"It is begun, Master." 

Mickey felt the ship lift gently, then 
rise faster and faster as it took what 
acceleration was safe. The sensation 
became sickening. He knew a good deal 
about space ships in a general way, but 
neither he nor Marta had ever been in 
one before. 

Powerful generators, below, sound- 
ed; began to whine. Higher and higher 
rose the pitch, till the whine became a 
scream. When Mickey felt his eardrums 
would split the scream lessened in in- 
tensity, though the pitch continued to 
rise. Then the intensity diminished un- 
til it was gone, and there followed an 
interval of indescribable opppression. 
That, he knew, would be caused by a 
supersonic waves. In a moment the op- 
pression ceased, to be followed, sudden- 
ly, by a soft, many-tongue hiss. The 
power built up, the screens were on. 
Maximum wave blocking had been 
reached. 

The captain still stood there. Mickey 
asked: 

"Where is your cubby?" 

"Here Master." The officer respect- 
fully pointed to a door just behind him. 

"I shall occupy it myself," Mickey 
informed him. "Now, I want you to 
summon your most sensitive telegetter. 
Let others take over his duties." 

\ LMOST at once the man was there, 
kneeling. 

"Rise," Mickey commanded. "Be 
verbal with me. I am very beautiful," 
Mickey said somewhat hurriedly. 

"You are very beautiful, Highness," 
was the humble reply. This man kept 
his eyes on his Blue God's feet. 

"What is your name?" 

"Sarton, Highness." 


"You may stop Highnessing me. Can 
you catch my thoughts, reaching you 
from somewhere outside this ship?" 

"Yes." 

"What am I saying?" 

"You are saying that you come to 
lead the children of Earth." 

"Repeat verbatim what you hear." 

" 'I am a most beautiful blue,' " the 
man intoned. 

" 'Tall am I, with broad shoulders 
and mighty muscles, much like the man 
Mickey whom you call an imbecile. By 
this, and by my color, shall you know 
me. I come — ' " 

"Enough," Mickey interrupted. "You 
will remain at this door, Sarton, and 
continue to teleget my messages. You 
will be silent. If the intensity of my 
messages should weaken appreciably, 
you will knock on the door and so in- 
form me. If the substance of my mess- 
ages should change, however, then you 
will knock at once on the door and 
again start speaking aloud, repeating 
them to me. Do you understand?" 

"Yes." 

"Captain, inform me when you come 
within range." 
"Yes, Master." 

Mickey entered the cubby, and when 
Marta had followed closed the door. 

"We're on very thin ice," Mickey 
told her at once, soberly. "There'll 
come a moment when we'll set off the 
ship's warn. As a cargo carrier it won't 
have a ray projector, but heaven knows 
what other resources Blue God Number 
One has. He doesn't need anything 
else — not with his suggestive power. 
With it he could drive the crew crazy. 
He could make them tear us to pieces ! 
But I can't think of any way to prevent 
it. There is no way. I could pack a 
few of the crew in here, and they'd be 
immune to his thoughts— but two-thirds 
would be left outside, and they'd con- 
trol the ship." 


MYSTERY OF THE BLUE GOD 


93 


"Why did you tell the captain to ap- 
proach in the arc of that big circle?" 
Marta asked. 

"Ah, that's most important ! " 
Mickey told her. "There's a high prob- 
ability that the Blue God is beaming. 
If he weren't, his own messages, ampli- 
fied, would crack back into his head 
and knock him silly. The intensity at 
the source is terriffic. By the law gov- 
erning the variation of intensity with 
distance, it would be roughly 180 times 
what it is on Earth ! I figured it in my 
little head. That increase is what we 
would be running into if we went to the 
ship directly. By approaching it in an 
arc we may avoid the increase — and, 
just as important, we may avoid getting 
some unpleasant special instructions. 
That's why I posted that man outside 
the door. He'll warn us automatically 
if the Blue God changes his message." 

Marta gazed at Mickey with admira- 
tion. 

"You may be only a one-circuit im- 
becile," she said, "but darling, that cir- 
cuit does resonate ! " 

A/TICKEY would not smile. 
xVX "I resonate all right," he said. 
"Twice out there I pulled boners with 
the captain. They were trifling things, 
and he was quite opaque to them, but 
the principle was important. I had in- 
tended to take a hand in stalking that 
space ship, but after those slips I 
couldn't trust myself! You understand? 
I'd forget, and state an opinion or re- 
flection, and the man in his state would 
say 'Yes, Master' and act on it — and it 
might be the worst action possible! 
No, no! He can be trusted, if I can't. 
I'll stay in here. Anyway, here, the 
Blue God won't be getting my thoughts 
— and that's extremely important." 

"Then our one chance lies in bring- 
ing the ship within range before the 
Blue God acts," Marta said thought- 


fully. "Yes," Mickey said. "If we do, 
we win. If not — " He shrugged his 
shoulders and did not complete the 
thought. "The imbecile Mickey has 
done all he can. From now on it's 
strictly a matter of luck." 

They set themselves to wait. Many 
minutes passed; then deceleration be- 
gan, and again brought them a sicken- 
ing feeling. Twice Sarton knocked with 
cheering reports of a steadily decreasing 
intensity. The beam, apparently, was 
not sharp. More minutes passed, and 
the two talked a little more hopefully. 
But their tension was such that both 
started at the next knock on the door. 
It was the captain. 

"We're coming within range, Mas- 
ter," he said. 

"How close are we?" Mickey asked. 

"Nearly 4,000 kilometers, Master." 

"Touch off at the earliest second you 
feel sure you can hit and destroy," 
Mickey ordered. 

"Yes, Master." 

As he was leaving Mickey caught a 
glimpse of the viewing screens. In one, 
the other ship was only a bright speck, 
but in another, giving high magnifica- 
tion, it showed as a gleaming sphere, 
outwardly like their own. He went to 
the door, held it open just a centimeter, 
and watched. 

The captain returned to an accessory 
panel of controls and stood motionless 
before it, eyes on several meters. One, 
Mickey could see, was slowly creeping 
to a vertical position. As it came close 
the captain stirred slightly; it was as 
if he were waiting for it to reach that 
point, and then he would act. It came 
still closer. This was the moment! It 
was there! 

At that precise instant Sarton, out- 
side the cubby, knocked and said: 

"You will not touch off. Not touch 
off. You will not touch off." 

"Yes — you will!" cried Mickey, 


94 


AMAZING STORIES 


opening the door wider. "Do it ! Touch 
off! At once! I, the Blue God, com- 
mand you! Ignore all outer com- 
mands!" 

But he could not get the captain's 
attention. The man stood looking up- 
ward, as if transfixed; then he turned 
slowly, tortured lines of an intense inner 
conflict on his face. 

"Touch off!" cried Mickey franti- 
cally. "I command you!" 

T^HE silver sphere still filled the 
screen; Sarton, from his expression, 
was getting fresh messages, but now he 
did not speak! Had he been forbidden? 
In an agony of apprehension Mickey 
rushed out and shook the captain 
roughly. 

"Touch off ! " he yelled in the man's 
face. "I command you! I, the Blue 
God, command you to touch off!" 

The captain fell to the floor. 

As Mickey stood there, panting and 
at bay, he for the second and last time 
in his life telegot. A smooth and sooth- 
ing voice, sad, frightening, familiar, 
cut clearly through to him. 

"Mickey," it said, "you are helpless. 
Marta, you are helpless. You will stand 
quietly and obey my will. You have no 
desire to resist me. You are relaxed 
and amenable." 

The voice ceased. Mickey stood 
helpless and amenable. Marta stood at 
his side, in the same condition. The 
captain got slowly to his feet, and so 
did one of the other officers who had 
fallen. Every uniformed figure in the 
room advanced on the stricken two. 

They were taken away. Some time 
later they were seated in a space barge, 
and the captain took a place at their 
side. Uncaring, they saw the barge slip 
out into space, and after an interval 
enter the lock of the other ship. 

All three were automatons. 

They went up into the control room 


and stood silent, in a row. Across 
from them was one who said; 

"Mickey, Marta, awake to nor- 
mality." 

CHAPTER XII 

Blue Gods — Face to Face 

'T'HE two struggled to join the severed 
threads of consciousness. It did 
not take them long to realize that this 
end was the very one they had feared. 
They looked and looked. 

It was almost dark in the room, but 
their eyes adjusted— enough. The 
Blue God was there. He was in the 
captain's chair, some meters away at. 
the bow end. He was another Mickey, 
hair for hair. And he was blue! His 
blueness, in the gloom, was frightening. 

He half lay in the chair, chin toward 
his chest, his eyes wide open and head 
inclined downward toward their feet. 
For a moment Mickey had the thought 
he might be ill or wounded. He did not 
move. He did not even blink. Breath- 
lessly they looked at him. 

He seemed to be off his guard, Mick- 
ey thought, and, if he was hurt — 

"Don't, Mickey," the man said. 

This was the voice Mickey had heard 
in the laboratory! 

Mickey didn't. The two stood si- 
lently, straining their eyes to make out 
more detail. 

"The sun," murmured this blue god. 
"The all-mother sun." Still he did not 
move. 

Mickey did not understand, nor could 
he filter the mixture of emotions with 
which the oblique words were uttered. 
This reception was astounding! He 
found himself afraid to speak! 

Marta's hand sought his, and some 
courage returned. 

"Who are you?" he dared ask after 
a little. "Why do you look so much 


MYSTERY OF THE BLUE GOD 


95 


like me?" 

"You already suspect," said the 
other, still not moving. "I am your 
brother. Your twin brother." 

Mickey gasped. His lips formed the 
word soundlessly. 

"Yes," said the blue man. "Talber 
meddled." 

"Then— we are mutants?" Mickey 
asked fearfully. 

"I am the mutant," was the answer. 
The man was silent for a moment, then 
for the first time he raised his head and 
faced Mickey. "I cut myself once," 
he said with intense bitterness, teeth 
barely separated. "Deeply I cut; delib- 
erately. I am blue, Mickey! — blue all 
through ! " His intensity became terrific. 
"Blue! Different! Disgusting! In- 
tolerable!" 

CLOWLY he subsided, and his head 
fell to its former position. Mickey 
dared speak again. 

"I think I understand," he said then. 
"You would overturn a whole civiliza- 
tion in an attempt to establish public 
tolerance for yourself and your color." 

"It's obvious, isn't it?" 

"Did you grow up a prisoner in Tal- 
ber's laboratory?" Mickey asked, 
guessing. "And then escape, last 
night?" 

The blue man did not speak at once. 
When he did, he did not answer Mick- 
ey's question. 

"There were two brothers who had 
never seen each other," he said. "Now 
there are two blue gods. One of us 
must die, Mickey." 

By now Mickey expected to die; but 
if he could somehow reason with the 
man! 

"I think you killed Talber," he said 
bravely. "If you choose to kill me, I 
guess I can't prevent it. But why do 
this to me? Why do it to anyone? 
Aren't you aware that you're destroying 


a whole people? Haven't you looked at 
what you're doing, down on Earth? 
Don't you know?" 

"I know," the man said. 

"Then have you no heart? The 
chaos there is indescribable. Half the 
population has gone mad trying to rec- 
oncile your suggestions with their nat- 
ural antipathies. They don't deserve 
anything like that. They're peaceful 
people. They're good people. They 
are many, and you are only one. How 
can you destroy them this way!" 

At Mickey's last words the man sat 
erect, eyes flashing even through the 
dimness. 

"And why should I not?" he thun- 
dered. "I am their victim! They would 
never have allowed me to go among 
them. They hate mutants— hate any 
type different from themselves. And 
why? You're thinking it's only natural 
. — the Instinct of a race to survive. But 
before there was a race there was a 
type — and the type, too, has this in- 
stinct to survive! 

"I had done nothing to be treated 
as I've been. I did not ask Talber to 
experiment with half of an impregnated 
ovum. Yet, you, an imbecile, are white, 
and I, much superior to you all down 
there — I am a revolting blue! Do you 
know who your father was?" 

"Yes. B-32-L-5, of the old system." 

"He was Talber! Ah, you don't like 
that ! Listen. 

"Talber loved greatly; the woman 
died; he wanted a son, and resorted to 
posthumous conception; and then when 
you and I, cell to cell lay helpless in 
his test tube, he could not resist the im- 
pulse to divide those cells and experi- 
ment with one pitiful half. Oh, he was 
a good and kind man as your race goes, 
and I know his motive was only to pro- 
duce a superior human offspring as he 
so successfully had done with his 
plants; but he performed secretely a 


96 


AMAZING STORIES 


criminal act, the most heinous his so- 
ciety knows — and I am his victim! — 
superior, as he desired, but blue! 

"JTE PERFORMED other damnable 
experiments! 

"Our mother was an imbecile. You 
came down unchanged from her. You 
could be seen by human eyes; allowed 
to grow up in the sunshine and freedom 
of the open air; but I? I was blue, 
a loathesome blue, living evidence of 
my father's guilt; I had to be hidden 
away. I do not even have a name! 
Compassion for your people? Sym- 
pathy? Why should I have? Don't 
you know that such feelings are 
learned? They're conditioned into 
people. How was I to be so conditioned? 

"I grew up by myself. I grew up 
alone, an atypical animal in a cage. I 
had food, the physical necessities, and 
books; Talber came often to see me 
when I was young; but that was all. 
I learned to read almost by myself, 
when an infant. I learned to speak al- 
most by myself. There were only my 
books, my small tight room, the artifical 
light; no fresh air, no lovely sunlight, 
no contact with others, not one day's 
beginning of normal growthl 

"In spite of this I developed marvel- 
ously, and there came a time when I 
could catch Talber's thoughts, and a 
day when I attempted to escape. I 
nearly hypnotized him, but he was 
lucky and got away, and from that time 
on Talber, recognizing my potence, 
kept me more strictly than ever his 
prisoner. The one thing I had, books, 
I spent all my time on. I read, I studied, 
I learned, I remembered everything. I 
devoured whole libraries. And some- 
times, in between, I made plans. There 
would come a moment when Talber 
would be careless — and I knew just 
what I would do. 

"Last night that time came. I got 


out! I locked Talber in the oven — 
not possessing one insignificant scrap 
of knowledge, that there was a way he 
might get out. I did not kill him. I 
should not for one moment have hesi- 
tated to kill him if necessary, but I 
didn't. He died as a result of his exer- 
tions in getting out of the oven. He 
died before my eyes, trying to get a 
message through the laboratory win- 
dow. 

"You removed his body while I was 
below. When I returned and found 
Talber gone, I went up to the entrance 
and brought you back in. Then I over- 
came you too, and locked the door, and 
spent some time getting from you such 
information as seemed valuable. And 
then, then, I walked out into the world 
which for twenty years had been denied 
me! I was free! Free and powerful! 
And I knew just what to do! 

"I was kilometers away when Talber 
returned and blew up the laboratory 
and all material evidence of his guilt. 
He hoped to finish me, inside; I caught 
his thought. But I no longer cared. I 
knew it would take hours to get him 
back to the hospital, again revive him, if 
possible, and then bring up the facts 
about me — and by that time I couldn't 
be stopped. That night! It was only 
last night, but it seems far away in time. 

"I took this ship, brought it up here, 
and constructed a simple piece of ap- 
paratus. The sun rose — ah, the inex- 
pressibly warm and beautiful sun, the 
sun I'd never seen, and which I now 
beheld for the first time! Can you 
imagine how I felt? This was my re- 
lease! This was freedom! I had been 
a grub, deep in the earth, but now I was 
an eagle, supreme over all! I dared look 
into the sun! Yes, I dared look into the 
sun." 

'"THE man ceased speaking, and 
slowly slumped down into his 
former position. Mickey, moved, said 


MYSTERY OF THE BLUE GOD 


97 


earnestly: 

"You could reorient yourself. You 
could undo most of the damage down 
on Earth. You could quickly achieve 
normality, except for your color, and 
with your powers you should be able 
to surmount that!" 

"It is too late," said the other. He 
smiled bitterly. "I thought I was an 
eagle." 

"But, Brother" — the word came halt- 
ingly from Mickey's lips — "it's not too 
late. If you are not an eagle, be a man. 
Come down. Stop this madness. You 
can adjust. With your powers you can 
even help make society adjust to you. 
But not in this mad way! Come down 
to normality!" 

"It's too late," repeated the other, 
out of great depths of sadness and 
bitterness. "I have looked into the 
sun." 

Suddenly a tremendous new meaning 
lit the blue man's words. 

"You mean — ?" began Mickey. 

"Yes," said the other. "I am blind." 

"Ah," Mickey breathed. 

For a moment there was only silence. 

"I came so close, but I was blue. 
I had learned so much, but had experi- 
enced so little. A little thing, a petty, 
common thing, but I did not know it. 
I looked into the sun." 

Mickey and Marin turned their eyes 
away from him. They were profoundly 
touched. The blue man broke the si- 
lence again. 

"Marta," he called. "Come to me." 

She went and stood by his side. 

He reached out, fumbled, found her 
waist and lightly, not objectionably, 
ran his hands over her figure—up over 
the strong shoulders to her neck and 
face and then down past her waist to 
her knees. His hands fell to his sides. 

"And she is to be your mate, Mick- 
ey," he said. "I had wanted a mate. 
One with a mind like my own, and a 


body like my own. But a white body, 
not blue all through. 

"My days were torture," he went on 
quietly. "I anticipated. Could I en- 
dure a woman with the good brain but 
puny body of the present race — stifling 
my need for one of my own kind — 
blinding her by hypnosis, always, from 
loathing realization of my color? 
Would that be worth living through? 

"Could I keep on, balancing myself 
on the unsteady pinnacle of a social 
structure supported only by my powers 
of hypnosis? Would that be worth 
living through? 

"I didn't know. I couldn't tell." 

T ESS and less did the imbecile Mick- 
ey know what to say to this man. 

The blue man raised his head and 
pointed to a piece of apparatus func- 
tioning at his side. 

"Do you know what this is?" he 
asked. 

"No," said Mickey, peering hard. 

The only moving part was a metallic 
cylinder, about fifteen centimeters in 
each dimension. It revolved rapidly 
past the poles of what seemed to be an 
electromagnet, without touching it. 
Connected in, was a bank of amplifying 
tubes. 

"I had powers, Mickey," the man 
said sadly, and Mickey noted that he 
spoke strangely, in the past tense. "No 
man before has done what I have done 
with this simple apparatus conceived 
in my lonely cell, with only books to 
give it genesis, and no apparatus with 
which to experiment. My thoughts lie 
on that steel cylinder. The tubes am- 
plify them. I had only to think the 
record, then set the cylinder repeating, 
and all Earth bent to my will " 

"I don't understand," Mickey said. 
"The cylinder is smooth. I see no 
thought record." 

"Still, my thoughts are on it," the 


98 


AMAZING STORIES 


blue man said, " — going powerfully 
down to Earth, repeating, endlessly re- 
peating. That pair of coils you see is 
an electromagnet. On the side of the 
apparatus is a headpiece, which will 
send through the electromagnet a vari- 
able current exactly proportional to 
the variations of my thought waves. 
The cylinder, turning past the electro- 
magnet, receives a varying magnetic 
flux exactly proportional to the current. 
The cylinder retains its spiral of minute 
magnetic polarities indefinitely. No 
intervening mechanical system spoils 
the transfer; only the cylinder moves. 
To telecast the message the cylinder 
is again run past the electromagnet, in- 
ducing in it a variable current still 
proportional to the waves of my 
thoughts. 

"Such a simple thing. Magnetic re- 
cording goes far back, but it has always 
lain deep in obscurity. I adapted it as 
my means to power." 

The blue man bent over and felt the 
parts of the apparatus. He said gently: 
"Look how easy it is to remove the 
message of the Blue God." 

Mickey and Marta watched. The 
man set the magnet at one end of the 
cylinder and threw a switch. The mag- 
net moved horizontally past the revolv- 
ing cylinder. Every part was covered. 

"I send an erasing current through 
the magnet," the man said. "The Blue 
God no longer speaks to the people of 
Earth." 

He looked toward where Mickey was 
standing and asked: 

"Would you like to send them a 
message?" 

Mickey was so surprised that he 
could not answer. 

"You too have powers, Mickey, 
though you've never discovered them. 
You have intensity. You could hyp- 
notize people all around you, if you 
chose to and felt the necessary confid- 


ence." He caught Mickey's thought 
and again smiled faintly. "Very well 
then. I'd better, anyway." 

J_TE FELT for the headpiece he had 
mentioned, and fastened it on. For 
just a moment he paused; then in clear, 
persuasive tones, he said: 

"Children of Earth, the Blue God 
speaks. I bring you a new message. I 
am leaving you. The imbecile Mickey 
will tell you why. He will descend 
presently among you and you will re- 
ceive him joyfully, and believe what he 
has to say, and honor him. He was 
strong where you were weak, and in his 
strength he has done you a great serv- 
ice. When I give the word you will re- 
sume in full normality your everyday 
pleasures and duties. It will be as if 
you awake from a dream. You will 
forget the Blue God; but you will be- 
lieve what the imbecile Mickey has to 
say. Farewell, children of Earth. Now, 
awake to normality, and go your ac- 
customed ways! " 

The blue man threw a switch and 
re-set the magnet; then he lay back in 
his chair for a moment head low again 
in the darkness, the bitterness of total 
defeat in his sightless eyes. He mur- 
mured : 

"So passes the blue mutant who did 
not even have a name ..." 

This was victory for Mickey and 
Marta, but there were dark currents in 
their tide of joy. 

The man rose, groped his way to the 
light port. Slowly, through a half circle, 
he rotated the polarized disc. Thin, 
straight rays of sunlight cut through 
the gloom, grew wider and harder, until 
the light in the room was almost un- 
bearably brilliant. Pitilessly the rays 
revealed his Mickey's face, with skin of 
ghastly blue; but, eyes open, he looked 
out unflinchingly straight at the morn- 
ing sun. 


MYSTERY OF THE BLUE GOD 


99 


"The sun is dark," he said. 
He moved back the disc and turned 
away. 

"Lead me to the catapult lock, Mick- 
ey," he said. 

"No!" exclaimed Mickey. "No! 

No!" 

"You will lead me to the catapult 
lock," he repeated in a different tone. 

TV/TICKEY stepped forward and took 
his brother's hand. Head high, 
his sightless blue eyes opened wide, the 
blue man followed him down through 
the ship to the compartment door. He 
entered, felt for the space suits kept 
there, then turned: 

"Go back to Marta, then awake," he 
said and that was all. 

Mickey returned and awoke. Marta 
was pointing to one of the viewing 
screens. 


On it lay the image of a figure clad 
in a space suit — an image that dimin- 
ished in size so rapidly that in seconds 
it was no larger than a doll. A tiny 
arm moved to the helmet, and the doll 
exploded. 

Still the two kept their eyes on the 
screen. 

"Soon he will be a shooting star," 
Marta murmured. Mickey added: 

"Unseen in the light of the new day." 

He looked downward. Near the foot 
of the screen lay the Blue God's first 
and only invention. The steel cylinder 
turned steadily, faithfully sending to 
Earth his last message. 

A uniformed figure, the captain of 
the M-17, stepped forward. They 
turned to him, and he saluted. He 
said: 

"Mickey, when it pleases you, we 
may return to Earth." 


THE HOUSE OF 

Flint slams the switch hotnol The cur- 
rent hums as H races through the cables, J 
roars as It reaches the electrodes of the i 
arc, splinters fit a flashing crash as the >, 
arc flames! . . . Desperately Stargon? 
tries to move the chair away. ..Hi 
lurches as he presses the controls § 
. . . Flame bathes him in a hellish ra- 
diance! Can the egg-headed fiend escape 
the clutches of his own devilish con- 
trivance in time to direct its heat rays 
earthward, destroying the Govern- 
ment's TNT plant? ... Or will he he 
tricked by the men from earth and 
"bum in his own juice?" Told in the 
gripping style of Robert Moore Wil- 
iiams, this great story will have you 
gasping for breath! Don't miss top- 
notcher ... THE HOUSE OF FIRE 
... one of the six outstanding stories In 
the big, thrill-packed January issue. 



JANUARY ISSUE 


\ ADVENTURES 


ON SALE AT NEWSSTANDS EVERYWHERE 



oomea men 

by ROBERT MOORE WILLIAMS 


DR. RUTLEDGE was in too big 
a hurry to wait for the elevator. 
Instead the resident physician 
used the stairs, going up two steps at a 
time. And Dawson was right behind 
him. The well-known psychic investi- 
gator was panting after the hurried trip 
he had made in answer to Rutledge's 
urgent summons. 

The hospital call system was still 
whispering huskily, "Calling Dr. Rut- 
k ledge. Come to Room 309 at once. 


Urgent. Calling Dr. Rutledge." 

Then they were in 309. 

Two husky internes were already 
there. They were huddled together as 
if for mutual protection. There was 
also a nurse, her face as white as her 
uniform. 

The patient was sitting up in bed. 
Her head was tilted a little to one side, 
and her eyes were fixed on a spot mid- 
way between the bed and the window. 

"Yes," she spoke suddenly, as if con- 



These people, ready to die, 
rose from theii hospital beds and 
vanished. Where did they go? For what 
pupose were the sick and dying kidnaped? 


102 


AMAZING STORIES 


tinuing a conversation. "I can see you." 

She did not glance toward the two 
men who had entered. Rutledge took 
one step inside the room and stopped. 
Dawson moved past the physician. Slid- 
ing his feet along the floor, he man- 
euvered until he had an unobstructed 
view, then reached behind him until he 
touched the wall. Never taking his 
eyes from the girl, he moved backward 
until the wall was firm against his back. 

Now, if anything attacked him, it 
could come only from the front, not 
from behind. He would see it coming. 
Or even if he didn't see it, it could 
come from only one direction. 

He did not know whether he was in 
any danger of being attacked. But he 
did not doubt the presence of danger 
in this room; for the fixed stare of the 
girl meant she was seeing something, 
the tilt of her head meant she was listen- 
ing to something. 

There was something in the room. 
The girl saw it. But neither Dawson 
nor anyone else could see it! 

"It's happening again," Rutledge 
spoke nervously out of the corner of 
his mouth. "You've got to stop it." 

"I will if I can," Dawson answered. 
He had just arrived at the hospital, in 
answer to a phone call from Rutledge, 
when the call to come to 309 had sound- 
ed. Consequently he knew nothing of 
what had happened. All he knew was 
that Rutledge was frightened. And that 
was bad, for Rutledge looked like a 
tough-minded skeptic who didn't scare 
easily. He had the jaw of a fighter. 
Doctors usually aren't afraid of death. 
They see too much of it to fear it. 
But Rutledge was scared. Well, then, 
if death couldn't scare him— what 
could? 

Dawson watched the girl. She was 
about twenty-three, with a delicate at- 
tractive face. A haunted face now, but 
there was still strength in it. On the 


foot of the bed a record sheet was hang- 
ing, with her name on it — Mary Nolan. 

'"THE girl spoke again. But she 
wasn't speaking to the internes, to 
the nurse, to Rutledge or to Dawson! 

Dawson suddenly felt cold, colder 
than he had ever been before. Search 
the room as he might, he could not see 
the person to whom she must be talking. 
Or had his eyes seized this moment to 
play tricks on his brain — 

''Did you come for me?" the girl was 
asking. She waited for an answer, her 
head tilted a little to one side. 

Out of the corners of his eyes, Daw- 
son saw the two internes and the nurse 
holding their breath. Rutledge stood 
with his mouth open, his face blank with 
bewildered fear. He couldn't tear 
his eyes off Mary Nolan. Dawson won- 
dered what Rutledge saw. Something 
about the girl baffled the physician even 
more than the fact that she was ob- 
viously talking to an invisible creature. 

"But I don't understand," Mary 
Nolan was saying. "The Master needs 
me? Why?" 

Some way, somehow, although Daw- 
son heard nothing, her question was an- 
swered. Her face reflected awe and 
wonder. 

"But what if I don't want to go with 
you? What if I choose to remain 
here?" 

"—Oh! I don't have any choice." 
She wasn't scared. She was puzzled 
and her temper was rising. "You can't 
come in here and give me orders! I 
do have a choice. I choose to remain 
here. What do you say to that?" 

" — But I can't!" Her temper was 
gone. She was unnerved now ; her voice 
dropped in pitch. Terror showed starkly 
on her face. Bewildered terror. Utter 
terror. 

"I can go with you — or stay here and 
die! That's the choice I have! But 


PLANET OF DOOMED MEN 


how do you know — Yes, yes, I am to 
be operated on tomorrow. You could 
have learned that here at the hospital. 
But how can you be certain I'm going 
to — to die when they operate on me?" 

Dawson felt his heart turn over and 
stop beating for a second, then resume 
with a mad thump in his chest. Rut- 
ledge's face was pasty gray. The in- 
ternes were trembling. The nurse 
gulped, and slid to the floor in a faint. 
No one moved to help her. No one even 
noticed. 

Mary Nolan spoke again, her voice 
a thin whisper now, without hope. 

"You do know! If they operate on 
me tomorrow, I will die. I can see it — 
the operating room, the nurses, the 
mask for the ether, the scalpels. I can 
see myself on the operating table, still 
and silent, the doctors trying to revive 
me — and failing ! I can see myself lying 
dead — You do know, don't you? You're 
not playing with me, scaring me. You're 
telling me the truth. I am going to die 
tomorrow!" 

Seconds ticked away into nothingness 
as hopeless despondency stamped itself 
on her face. Then little by little it went 
away, and she tried to smile. 

Here was courage, the only real cour- 
age. The courage to smile at death! 

"But I would rather die than — have 
my operation fail. Death I can face; 
life I cannot face if my operation fails. 
So you have not frightened me by telling 
me that I am to die—" 

Something interrupted the girl. She 
seemed to listen. Her voice grew a little 
stronger. 

"You were not trying to frighten me. 
You are trying to explain . . . Oh — I un- 
derstand. Yes, yes — " 

Awe crept into Mary Nolan's voice, 
and a bewildered understanding. What- 
ever it was that she was being told, it 
left her momentarily speechless. 

"Yes, I will go," she said after a 


103 

painful interlude. "Yes. Nothing but 
death is here for me. Yes, I will go — 
with you." 

HPHE girl slid slim legs over the edge 
of the bed, swayed a little as she 
stood erect. No one moved as she 
walked across the room, took her 
clothes from a closet and dressed. Then 
she shyly extended her right hand, 
closed her fingers on an invisible object 
and started toward the door. 

Rutledge broke the spell that had 
held them all motionless. "Seize her!" 
he snapped at the two internes. "She 
must not leave the hospital in her con- 
dition." 

The two internes leaped to obey him. 
Dawson, his back against the wall, did 
not move. All over his body cold winds 
were playing. 

The internes caught the girl, turned 
her roughly around. And then — then 
something seized them! Their husky 
bodies jerked as if they had touched 
live wires. Dawson, heart pounding, 
was positive no physical force had 
blocked them. Their hands seemed to 
leap away from the girl, their legs to 
fold up under them. They fell heavily 
to the floor. 

But Mary Nolan continued on to- 
ward the door. She took two steps and 
Rutledge stepped in front of her. Daw- 
son knew then that he had judged the 
physician correctly. Rutledge had seen 
what happened to the internes, but he 
was a fighter by nature. Yet he didn't 
try to use force at first. 

"Miss Nolan," Rutledge said, his 
voice the calm tone that doctors use 
with patients who are not in their right 
minds. "You know you can't leave the 
hospital. It's raining outside and you 
might catch cold. Besides, it's night 
now. Why not wait until tomorrow 
morning? It will be time enough then." 

The girl didn't seem to hear him or 


104 


AMAZING STORIES 


to see him. She stopped, but otherwise 
she gave no indication of the physician's 
presence. 

Rutledge continued talking to her. 

"Please step aside," she said 
abruptly. 

"But Miss Nolan—" 

"I said to step aside! I know what 
I'm doing." 

"I doubt it," Rutledge snapped, los- 
ing his temper. "You're not leaving 
this hospital in your present condition. 
You're going back to bed if I have to 
put you there. Come, now! No more 
of this stupid argument. Back to bed 
with you." 

He took her arm. Instantly he jerked 
his hand away, a look of pained surprise 
flashing over his face. Almost bone- 
lessly his legs buckled under him, and 
he collapsed limply to the floor, faint 
and sweat-soaked. 

Mary Nolan walked out the door as 
though nothing at all had happened. 

"Stop her, man!" Rutledge cried 
weakly to Dawson. "Don't let her 
leave!" 

"Do you think I'm a fool?" said 
Dawson quietly. "I can't stop her any 
more than you could. She has a guard- 
ian, and against that guardian I am as 
a slab of jelly. The best I can do is 
follow her and see what happens." 

Mary Nolan walked down the stairs 
and out the front door of the hospital 
into the night, her right hand still ex- 
tended at her side in an unnatural posi- 
tion. A couple of people on the side- 
walk stared as the girl walked by. An 
ambulance attendant started, made as 
if to hurry from his seat in the convey- 
ance and catch the girl. 

Dawson gestured quickly to him to 
stay where he was. Then, his face ab- 
solutely expressionless, he trailed on 
silent, unobtrusive feet after the girl. 
If he had any conception of the risk he 
was taking, that knowledge was not re- 


vealed in his quiet, chiseled features. 

Not such a mask was the light that 
shone in his steady gray eyes. 

CHAPTER II 
Three Who Vanished 

TN FRONT of the hospital, Mary 
Nolan turned to the right and 
walked a block and a half. Then to 
Dawson's surprise, she turned up an 
alley. Ahead a single flaring light cast 
a dim circle of illumination. The girl's 
body was outlined against the light. 
Dawson followed her, keeping close to 
the wall of the building. The alley had 
a dead end. Mary Nolan stopped under 
the light. Dawson flattened himself 
against the building, his mind racing. 
Why had she come here? Where was 
she going? Even more important, what 
incredible creature guarded her, talked 
to her, was visible to her alone? What 
weird pattern was being traced here 
in the murk of this rainy night? 

Dawson heard her voice then. He 
shivered, refusing to believe his ears, 
and thrust himself deeper into the 
shadows. He felt his muscles trembling, 
willed them to be still. Mary Nolan 
called again. He swallowed, and stepped 
forward. 

There was no point now in trying to 
hide. She knew he was there. She 
could see him even in the darkness. 
Again she was calling to him. "Don't 
be afraid, Mr. Dawson." 
- He had never seen her before — but 
she knew his name ! 

"I'm not afraid," he said gruffly. "I 
may be scared more than half to death, 
but I'm still not afraid." 

The girl's eyes fixed him with terrible 
intensity. She smiled. 

"I see you're not," she said. "And 
that is very good. We need men who 
are stronger than fear." 


PLANET OF DOOMED MEN 


105 


Her words jarred him unpleasantly. 
"What do you mean?" he growled, his 
voice purposefully harsh. 

"Don't snarl at me. I don't like it," 
Mary Nolan retorted. "As to my mean- 
ing, I'm not sure I have any. All I 
know is that something wonderful has 
happened." 

"Something wonderful?" Dawson 
snapped. Then, more patiently, "You're 
getting wet, girl. Better come back to 
the hospital" 

Her voice was altogether too assured. 
"I'm not going back to that or any 
other hospital. Never. I'm going to 
another world. And you're coming too, 
I think." 

Dawson started, but kept his mind 
under rigid control. It was the only 
way. He could not let himself even 
think about what Mary Nolan was 
saying. 

"You're going to catch your death 
of cold if you don't get out of this rain," 
he warned. 

"Pouf!" she said. "You growl but 
you don't mean it. You do it because 
you know if you do anything else, fear 
will eat you up. I'm doing the same 
thing, Mr. Dawson — and for the same 
reason." 

At that Dawson broke out in a cold 
sweat. But the girl's attention was dis- 
tracted. She seemed to be listening — 

"I must go," Mary Nolan said 
abruptly "There is not much time. 
But before I go — Did you ever kiss a 
girl, Mr. Dawson? Ever before, I 
mean?" 

TPHE question was so out of place, it 
almost shattered Dawson's remain- 
ing control. 

"No," he answered involuntarily. 
Then he colored violently. For it was 
the truth. Dawson had been on earth 
thirty-three years, yet he hadn't kissed 
a girl since he'd been a kid. 


"I thought so," said Mary Nolan. 
"And there's a reason, isn't there? One 
that nobodys knows but you. Two rea- 
sons, maybe. And they're both good 
reasons, too. I'm sorry about one— 
and glad about the other." 

"Talk sense," Dawson snapped. In- 
wardly he was terribly frightened. 
Could the girl read his mind, he won- 
dered. Otherwise, how did she know 
his name? How did she know that one 
terrible reason why he had never kissed 
a girl? 

"Would you mind so much kissing me 
right now?" 

Dawson literally jumped at the 
words. But Mary Nolan didn't wait 
for his answer. She moved forward 
and her mouth was raised. Rain 
splashed across her forehead. Her lips 
were soft and sweet. 

Dawson groaned. In spite of all he 
could do to prevent it, his arms went 
around her. He felt the pressure of her 
lithe body beneath his fingers — 

Simultaneously the deep note of a 
plucked harp sounded. The air rippled 
with the sound. A soft golden light 
pulsed momentarily. A door opened 
outward, an incredible door that was 
like no other door ever found on earth. 

The note of the plucked harp died. 
The light was gone and the door was 
closed. Dawson's arms closed about — 
nothing. 

Mary Nolan was gone. 

Dawson felt her leave, felt his arms 
grow limp. He stood without moving, 
scarely breathing, listening, watching. 
He heard nothing, he saw nothing. The 
alley was silent and deserted. 

Grim hard knots bulged the corners 
of Dawson's jaw. He reached into an 
inside pocket, pulled out a tiny flash- 
light that he always carried. He 
searched the alley, found it reached a 
dead end in a blank wall. On his left 
was a warehouse. All the doors were 


106 


AMAZING STORIES 


locked and barred. On the right was 
the empty wall of a building. 

There was no way Mary Nolan could 
have escaped. But she was gone. 

Oblivious of the rain, now coming 
down in torrents, Dawson strode back 
to the hospital, his mind seething with 
contradictions. A man was waiting for 
him beside the information desk. He 
glanced up at Dawson and came quickly 
to his feet. 

"Hello. You're George Dawson, 
aren't you?" 

Dawson blinked almost angrily. "I 
suppose you're a reporter. No need to 
ask how you knew me, in that event." 

The newshawk grinned. "Reporters 
have to know a little bit of everything, 
you know. I read a book of yours. 
Had your picture in it. That's how 
I recognized you. You're president of 
the American Society for the Investiga- 
tion of Psychic Phenomena, aren't you? 
A ghost hunter, eh? Well, I enjoyed 
your book, but the stuff you fellows do 
gives me the creeps. Spending nights 
in haunted houses chasing spooks, ex- 
posing fake mediums — " 

The reporter rattled on. Dawson 
let him talk. He wanted to know what 
the man was doing at the hospital. 

Finally the newshawk came to the 
point. "Say, we got a hot tip that 
there's something doing down here. A 
ghost of some kind is on the loose, and 
people are putting on a disappearing 
act. Seeing you down here makes me 
think there must be something to it. 
How about it? What's the lowdown?" 

Dawson shook his head. "Somebody 
must have given you the wrong tip, 
buddy. There's nothing like that here." 
He started to walk away. 

"Yeah? What are you doing down 
here, then?" the reporter demanded. 

"Oh, Dr. Rutledge is an old friend 
of mine. I just dropped in to visit 
him," Dawson lied. 


The reporter's lip curled. "And while 
he was busy, you walked around the 
block in the rain, I suppose. Look at 
you; your clothes are all wet. There's 
a story here and you're trying to deny 
it. Come on, Mr. Dawson. Give!" 

"No story, buddy. Sorry." 

Dawson strode determinedly away. 
The reporter stared after him with a 
half angry, half suspicious frown. 

A MOMENT later Dawson entered 
Rutledge's office without knocking. 
The resident physician jumped. Then 
he saw who it was and went on pouring 
whiskey. Dawson carefully closed the 
door. 

"There's a reporter out here," he 
said. "Have you talked to him?" 

"Do you think I'm a fool?" Rutledge 
answered. "I haven't talked to him and 
I don't intend to." 

"Good. If this thing should get out, 
it would scare a lot of people out of their 
wits. Whatever else this situation may 
need, it doesn't need publicity." 

"Then you think this ghost is real?" 

"I don't think it," Dawson answered. 
"I know it!" 

Dawson slumped in a chair and 
mopped his brow, sweat mingling with 
the sheen of rain on his face. Rut- 
ledge's shaky hands finally managed to 
get a stiff bracer of whiskey into the 
glass, and he downed the stuff in one 
gulp. Not that it did much good, be- 
cause his hands went right on shaking. 

"This is absolutely the damnedest 
thing in my whole experience," Rut- 
ledge muttered when Dawson had 
finished his account. "Man, we've got 
to do something about this. Haven't 
you any idea what started it all?" 

Dawson's eyes were brooding. "Some- 
thing came into that girl's room. It 
must have been between four and five 
feet tall." 

Rutledge's eyes widened. "But you 


PLANET OF DOOMED MEN 


didn't see it! I mean — " 

"I followed the line of her gaze. She 
looked straight across the room, and 
since a person naturally looks at the 
face of a visitor, the level of her eyes 
determined the height of what she saw. 
She talked to this visitor. We heard 
what she said, but we didn't hear what 
it told her. But it convinced her that 
she should go with it, somewhere, and 
when she walked out of the room she 
was holding its hand. That's obvious 
because her hand was extended." 

"Eh? What's that? Something 
came and took her by the hand ! " Rut- 
ledge exclaimed. 

"I don't see what other reason she 
could have had for holding her right 
arm out from her body," Dawson re- 
peated. 

"My God!" the physician whispered. 
"I noticed that too, but I didn't realize 
what it meant." 

"And then," Dawson continued 
grimly, "either I was the victim of an 
hallucination — or Mary Nolan walked 
right off the face of the earth." 

"IT'S incredible!" Rutledge whis- 
pered. "Utterly incredible." 

He downed another bracer of whis- 
key. Dawson felt sorry for the man. 
He knew how the doctor was suffering, 
knew only too well. 

"Those are the facts in the case of 
Mary Nolan," he went on. "Now tell 
me — was she due to undergo an opera- 
tion tomorrow?" 

"Yes," the husky answer came. "So 
help me God, she was. And I — I was 
to do the operating. We were to open 
the brain case and remove the pressure 
on the optic nerve that had caused her 
blindness." 

"Blindness?" Dawson almost 
shouted. "Was she blind?" 

"Stone blind," Rutledge told him. 
"Not the slightest response in either 


eye. Heavens, man, I forgot you didn't 
know, but that's one of the things that 
has been driving me almost insane. For 
when she walked out of that room, her 
movements, her actions, everything — 
indicated that she could see!" 

Dawson had risen from his chair. 
Momentarily even his practical control 
was shattered. 

"See? Of course she could see ! She 
saw me, when I was hiding in the dark. 
Oh, Lord, this is a miracle ! The blind 
miraculously regaining their sight — " 

"Yes," Rutledge muttered thickly. 
"And the lame walk, and the hopelessly 
doomed find new strength and laugh 
at death and — disappear! You talk of 
a miracle. Listen while I tell you about 
two more of them! Would have told 
you before, but there wasn't any time." 

Rutledge got a grip on himself. 

"The first one occurred five days 
ago," he began. "We had a nineteen- 
year-old youth in the hospital, with a 
case of paralysis resulting from spinal 
meningitis. The muscles of the left leg 
had atrophied. He could walk, but only 
with a crutch. We were going to oper- 
ate. The night before the operation the 
nurse on the floor called me to his room. 
She thought he was having a fit. He 
had got out of bed and had dressed 
himself. 

"I was so dumfounded at seeing him 
walk that I didn't try to stop him. He 
walked out of the hospital and I haven't 
seen him since. Nor has anyone else- 
He didn't go home. I notified the police 
that he was missing, hired a detective 
— " The physician faltered, shrugged 
helplessly. "Well, we haven't found 
him." 

"Hm-m," said Dawson. Thoughts 
raced thrpugh his mind. "What was 
the next case?" 

"A woman of twenty-eight, a Miss 
Jennie West. Malignant carcinoma — 
cancer— of the stomach. Inoperable. 


108 


AMAZING STORIES 


No hope. She had perhaps two weeks 
to live and not enough strength left 
to lift her hand." 

"What happened to her?" 

"I don't know," Rutledge said 
blankly. "When the night nurse en- 
tered her room on a routine inspection, 
the patient was gone. Whether she left 
the hospital or vanished into thin air, 
we don't know. We made inquiries, 
but with no results. She lived with a 
sister, but her sister says she didn't 
return there. The police can't find her." 

"TS THAT all?" Dawson questioned. 

* "All?" The physician's face 
purpled. "Damn it, man, isn't that 
enough? Three people— gone— " He 
choked. 

"Did Miss West have a chance to re- 
cover?" Dawson asked quietly. 

"I told you she didn't! There was 
nothing medical science could do to save 
her," Rutledge snapped. 

"And Mary Nolan. She was told she 
was going to die tomorrow. Was that 
the truth?" 

"I don't know. But a brain operation 
is always dangerous. One slip of the 
knife — " 

Rutledge shuddered, and Dawson 
knew the reason for the convulsive 
shiver that passed over the physician's 
body. Rutledge himself would have 
been handling that knife — 

Dawson sighed a little tiredly. "She 
said she would rather die than have her 
operation fail. Why would she say 
that?" 

"She was an artist, and she loved her 
work. You can imagine what the loss 
of sight would mean to an artist." 

"Yes," Dawson nodded slowly. "I 
can." He drummed his fingers together 
a moment. "Now, this boy you men- 
tioned — what was his name by the way 
— was this operation dangerous? Was 
there a chance that he would die from 


its effects? You know — that nineteen- 
year-old youngster." 

Rutledge fumbled with the whiskey. 
"Any operation is a risk." His voice 
rose nervously. "Why do you ask that? 
Why do you sit there and ask questions? 
Why in hell don't you do something? 
This has got to be stopped! These 
people have to be found — " 

Dawson held up a restraining hand. 
"Take it easy, take it easy. I asked 
that question to establish a fact, and I 
think your answer does just that." 

"What fact? What are you talking 
about?" Rutledge demanded irritably. 

"That this ghost is appearing only to 
people on the verge of death, people 
who are doomed. Miss West didn't 
have a chance to recover. Mary Nolan 
would have died on the operating table. 
So would this boy, in all probability. 
Therefore, this ghost is taking with him 
only those who are about to die." 

Rutledge stared at him blankly. 
"What good does that do?" 

"It might do some good— if you'd 
tell me the truth." 

"lam telling you the truth ! " the phy- 
sician blazed hotly. "Don't you sit 
there and call me a liar ! I'm telling you 
the truth," he protested again. 

"You're not," Dawson challenged. 
"Rutledge, you're holding out on me. 
You're telling me part of the truth, but 
you're keeping something else back. 
Your whole manner shows it. You 
shouted at me that I've got to stop this 
business. Why is it so important to 
you to have it stopped? What's your 
personal stake in this?" 

The physician half rose from his 
chair, his face gray with anger. Dawson 
stared at him imperturbably. Rutledge 
sank back into his chair after a moment, 
wiping his sweating face. 

"I didn't mean to tell you this," he 
said shakily. "I meant to maintain the 
proper professional attitude, to say that 


PLANET OF DOOMED MEN 


109 


my interest in having this thing stopped 
was solely because these people were 
my patients. But I'll tell you the truth, 
I'll tell you why I say these people have 
to be found — because this nineteen- 
year-old spinal meningitis victim was 
my own son!" 

Rutledge broke down completely. 
"That's the personal reason I've got at 
stake. My son is gone. And I want him 
back. Do you understand, I want him 
back! Just thinking what may have 
happened to him is driving me almost 
insane. I've got to have Jack back. 
Can't you understand that?" 

Rutledge laid his head on the desk 
and sobbed unashamed. 

"Oh," said Dawson softly. He got 
up and walked around the desk. His 
fingers gently gripped the physician's 
shoulder. 

"We'll get him back," he said. "Or 
we'll go with him. We'll get them both 
back — or go where they have gone. I've 
"got a personal interest at stake, too." 

CHAPTER III 

To Trap a Ghost 

r pHERE was a small basement room 
in the hospital which Dawson ap- 
propriated for his own. To it he had 
brought armload after armload of 
equipment. He had three different au- 
tomatic cameras, one taking pictures by 
infra-red light, the second by ultra-vio- 
let, and the third by ordinary means. 
He had in addition an adaptation of a 
Geiger Counter, a device designed to 
record the impact of cosmic rays. 

Dawson had altered the device so 
that it was no longer a trap for cosmic 
rays. He hoped that all four pieces of 
apparatus would present a formidable 
trap for a ghost. Unfortunately it 
hadn't worked out that way. 

Occupied at the moment, developing 


the film from the cameras, Dawson was 
trying hard not to think. He especially 
didn't want to remember what he had 
just seen. 

Four days had just passed, four ter- 
rible days during which he had fought 
to solve the mystery of that incredible 
phantom that haunted the hospital. 
Tried — and failed. 

For in the meantime three more peo- 
ple had vanished. The first two, over- 
powering all efforts to halt them, had 
walked out of the hospital — and then 
off the face of the earth. That was bad 
enough, but it was the third patient 
that had disturbed Dawson more than 
he cared to admit. 

This one hadn't walked out of the 
hospital. He had been held in a special 
room, with doors and windows barred 
on the inside. He had been put in a 
strait-jacket. His name had been Roy 
Glenn. 

Dawson felt ill every time he remem- 
bered the disease from which Roy 
Glenn had been suffering. Rabies — the 
final stage when Glenn reached the hos- 
pital. Bitten by a pet dog. No hope. 
Absolutely nothing that could be done 
to save him. In its first stages, rabies 
could be cured. But once it had reached 
its final stage, medical science could do 
nothing — except to put the sufferer in 
a strait-jacket and hope the end was not 
far off. 

Dawson and Dr. Rutledge had been 
present, and four internes. Roy Glenn, 
trussed up like a madman in a room 
that was locked and barred, had twisted 
and strained as he tried to free himself, 
had begged them to do something — 
anything — to ease his suffering. 

They weren't able to do anything 
But something else apparently was — 

Roy Glenn had suddenly quit fight- 
ing the straps that held him. His eyes 
had focused on an impalpable vision — 

No one else had seen or heard any- 


110 


AMAZING STORIES 


thing. But Roy had. 

He tried to get out of bed and follow 
it. The strait-jacket held him back. He 
fought, but the straps were unyielding, 
uncompromising. Frantically he begged 
to be released. 

It had taken real courage to resist 
his pitiful cries. But resist they had. 
Roy Glenn had fallen back on the bed, 
seemingly drained of further strength. 

Bong! 

The note of a harp sounded. There 
was a flash of golden light, the web- 
bing of the strait-jacket fell in upon it- 
self, the bed sheets collapsed. 

The bed was empty! Roy Glenn was 
gone. Out of a strait-jacket, out of a 
locked, barred room, and in the pres- 
ence of six witnesses! 

T^\AWSON'S three cameras had re- 
corded the whole scene. All his 
ghost traps had been in operation. 

Gray and haggard, Rutledge had 
dragged himself back to his office and 
Dawson had come down to this base- 
ment room to develop the films he had 
exposed, to check the records of his 
other instruments. 

He developed the three different 
films, one taken by ultra-violet light, 
the second by infra-red, the third by 
ordinary light, and ran them through a 
projector. What he found left him tre- 
mendously disturbed. 

Roy Glenn's last struggles were on 
the film. Rather, only his last struggles. 
Whatever it was that had entered the 
room, it did not record on camera film. 
One picture showed Glenn in his strait- 
jacket, the second caught the flash of 
Golden light. In the next Roy Glenn 
was gone altogether. 

Dawson checked the record tape on 
the Geiger Counter. He found nothing. 

His ghost traps had failed com- 
pletely. 

For a long time he sat thinking. He 


heard people passing in the corridors 
overhead. Once he caught a chorus of 
excited voices, but he paid them no at- 
tention. 

This "ghost"— was it indeed an ap- 
paration visible to one person but not 
visible to another? It eluded even a 
camera. Yet its existence was unde- 
niable. And it had power; enough 
enough power to make its victims disap- 
pear, enough power to render senseless 
anyone attempting to restrain a victim 
of its own peculiar choice. 

Dawson, head of an organization de- 
voted to investigating all phases of psy- 
chic phenomena, from extra-sensory 
perception to spectral illusions, knew 
that literature was filled with allusions 
to ghosts. In most cases, he believed 
these apparitions were products of an 
overworked imagination. But there 
were other instances where unquestion- 
ably a supernatural agency had been 
involved. 

A supernatural agency was at work 
here. But what was its purpose? Why 
was it stealing defenseless human be- 
ings? Worse still — where was it taking 
them? Where had it taken — Dawson 
winced — Mary Nolan? 

A step sounded suddenly in the cor- 
ridor outside. The door opened. Daw- 
son glanced frowning at the figure of 
Dr. Rutledge. 

The physician was calmer than he 
had been at any time during the past 
four days. The haggard lines of fear 
were gone from his face. With one 
hand thrust in the pocket of his white 
jacket, a newspaper under the other 
arm, he looked almost cheerful. 

"What have you found out?" he 
questioned, nodding toward the cam- 
eras. 

"Nothing. Not a thing," Dawson said 
shortly. 

"Um. Well, it doesn't matter now. 
Hell's already broken loose." 


PLANET OF DOOMED MEN 


"What's that?" Dawson snapped. 
Rutledge handed him the paper. 

'T'HERE it was, on the front page. As 
Dawson read it, something cold 
turned over inside him. 

MEDICAL SOCIETY ON WARPATH 

AS FORTY PATIENTS DISAPPEAR 

MYSTERIOUSLY FROM HOSPITALS 

. The County Medical Society was in 
an uproar today, after a tabulation 
which revealed that in the past ten days, 
some forty patients, the majority of 
them desperately ill, had vanished com- 
pletely from local hospitals under cir- 
cumstances reportedly bordering on the 
supernatural. 

Nine patients are said to have disap- 
peared from city hospital Number 1, 
twelve from Number 3, six from John- 
son Memorial Hospital, ten from the 
Sherman Home for Bone Diseases, and 
three from the hospital of the Wright 
Pathological Institute. 

In an interview which he granted re- 
porters after keeping them waiting two 
hours, Dr. Morris K. Fishman, secre- 
tary of the County Medical Society, 
angrily denied that the Society as a 
whole was responsible for the mysteri- 
ous disappearances. 

"There will of course be a complete 
investigation," Dr. Fishman stated. "To 
say that these patients have disap- 
peared, vanished is ridiculous. Nobody 
simply disappears just like that. How- 
ever, I shall take steps to see that the 
individual doctors responsible for per- 
mitting patients to leave hospitals are 
severely reprimanded. Some may even 
have their licenses to practice medicine 
suspended, or revoked." 

A reporter asked what would happen 
in the event a physician could prove 
that a patient under his care had van- 
ished without permission. 

Dr. Fishman declared that the ques- 


tion was impertinent and retired into his 
office, declining to answer any more 
queries. 

It is understood that a group of local 
physicians held "responsible" for the 
disappearances have secured an attor- 
ney to protect their rights, and will ap- 
peal to the State Supreme Court to 
forestall any attempt to revoke their 
licenses to practice medicine. 

"What utter nonsense!" Dawson ex- 
claimed when he had finished the ac- 
count. "How could any doctor stop a 
patient from turning into a — a ghost! 
Why, I myself saw some of these people 
vanish! I'll testify in your behalf too, 
Dr. Rutledge." 

Rutledge seemed unaccountably com- 
placent. "I'm afraid it wouldn't do any 
good, Dawson. People don't believe in 
ghosts in this country anyway, not un- 
til they've 'seen' them; and then they 
put it down as an hallucination. 

"Good heavens, man, don't bother 
your head about me. Let me worry 
about myself, as a doctor should. It's 
better that we start worrying about 
those forty missing people. Now, is 
there anything you can do for them, 
any way to find what's happened to 
them?" 

Dawson shook his head. The news 
had shocked him so profoundly that he 
wasn't thinking clearly. Forty people 
gone! Vanished! And the story spread 
all over the front pages. 

"I could wring that reporter's neck," 
Dawson said savagely. "There's a lun- 
atice fringe in this country that will go 
a&zy when they read this story. There 
will be a panic here in Chicago before 
the world is a day older." 

"There already is," Rutledge admit- 
ted. "Some of our patients here in the 
hospital got hold of this paper. We 
had kept it from them until then, and I 
had given the internes and the nurses 
strict orders not to talk. As soon as 


112 


AMAZING STORIES 


they read the story, all the patients who 
were able to walk cleared out. And 
the staff went with them. 

Dawson was incredulous. "You mean 
to tell me the doctors and the nurses 
have deserted their posts?" 

"Right. I don't blame them. They're 
scared. This thing has been taking only 
the dying, but for all they know it may 
start on the living next. Since it seems 
to haunt hospitals, they've cleared out." 

The resident physician looked specu- 
latively at Dawson. "Is there anything 
you can do, any suggestion you can 
make, as to how we can stop this, or 
find out what's happened to the peo- 
ple who have been taken?" 

"If there was anything, I'd be doing 
it," Dawson answered hopelessly. "I'm 
stumped. I don't know which way to 
turn. This thing is utterly beyond me." 

"Are you sure?" the physician in- 
sisted. 

"Of course. Say, what's come over 
you anyhow? A couple of hours ago 
you were the worst-scared man I've 
ever seen. Now you're just the oppo- 
site. You're calm. Have you been hold- 
ing out on me?" Dawson rose angrily to 
his feet. 

"Have you discovered something 
about this infernal business that you 
haven't told me?" 

Rutledge maintained his poise. "Yes, 
I've thought of something. I've thought 
of a way to help the people who have 
vanished." 

"You have!" The words jerked from 
Dawson's hps with explosive force. 
"Hell, man, tell me what it is!" 

Rutledge took his hand out of his 
pocket. He held up a small round card- 
board box, of the kind frequently used 
to contain capsules. There was a single 
capsule in it now. He held the box so 
Dawson could see it. The object glit- 
tered under the light. 

"The secret to the solution of the 


whole affair is right in that capsule," he 
said. 

tJAD the man gone mad, Dawson 
wondered. Had his mind cracked 
under the strain? Then he guessed the 
secret of that capsule and leaped toward 
Rutledge. But the physician was too 
fast for him. 

"You get ideas quickly," he said. 
"But you didn't get this one quickly 
enough." 

Like a man taking an aspirin, Rut- 
ledge popped the capsule into his mouth 
and gulped it down. 

"In about twenty minutes," he said, 
"if that ghost only comes for the dying, 
I'll know how to solve this business." 

Dawson's eyes were horrified. 

"You've taken poison," he whispered. 
"You're deliberately committing sui- 
cide, hoping that this ghost will come 
for you." 

Rutledge shrugged a little tiredly. 
"I said you get ideas quickly. You've 
got this one. I am committing suicide. 
You said you didn't know of any other 
way." 

"I don't. But you're taking an awful 
chance. Supposing this ghost doesn't 
come for you." 

"Then," said Rutledge, sinking into 
a chair, "I'll die." 

Dawson could only stare at the other. 
"You're a brave man," he said finally. 
"The world can't well afford to lose you. 
And," he added grimly, "it doesn't have 
to lose you! For every poison there's 
an antidote." 

"Not for this one." Thin beads of 
sweat were beginning to appear on Rut- 
ledge's forehead. "I'm a doctor and I 
ought to know." 

"Then we'll try an emetic and a stom- 
ach pump," Dawson said tightly. 

He started toward the door. He took 
one step — and deep within his body, in 
the region of his chest about the heart, 


PLANET OF DOOMED MEN 


113 


there was a spasmodic contraction. 
Pain, coming suddenly, drove through 
him like the thrust of a knife. Sparks 
danced before his eyes. He fell to one 
knee, fought for breath as the first 
spasm rolled a wave of red agony over 
his body. 

It subsided, then, but the pounding 
ache was a furious thing. Dawson knew 
what had happened. He dragged him- 
self to a chair. 

"I guess," he whispered weakly, "I 
won't be able to use that stomach pump 
on you after all." 

"Heart?" Rutledge asked softly. 

"Yes . . . How — how did you know?" 

"You've got all the symptoms. How 
long has it been bad?" 

"Years," Dawson answered. "I've 
seen five doctors — They all said — it 
couldn't be cured — that I might live ten 
minutes — or ten years. Had a light at- 
tack — about a month ago. The doctors 
said the next one — would be the last. . . . 
I guess the strain of watching you com- 
mit suicide — was too much — " 

That was the reason Dawson had 
never kissed a girl, the reason Mary 
Nolan seemed to have penetrated. His 
heart might quit beating at any minute. 
He couldn't honestly ask a girl to marry 
him when he knew he was already living 
on borrowed time. 

Now the end of that borrowed time 
had come. Pains like red-hot needles 
were tearing through his chest. Cold 
sweat broke out all over his body. 

"T'M sorry, old man," Rutldege said, 
"damned sorry. You oughtn't to 
have been a ghost hunter, you know, 
with a heart like that. Too much 
strain." 

Dawson gestured weakly. "Oh, I 
could control it — as long as I didn't let 
myself get excited. That was the rea- 
son — a ghost couldn't scare me. I knew 
if I let myself be afraid — my heart 


would act up." 

He slid limply off the chair then and 
sprawled full length on the floor. 

"So long, Rutledge. I'll see you — " 

■p\AWSON looked up. The door 
hadn't opened, but something had 
entered the room — a man! 

Or was it a man? He looked human 
and yet he looked — oddly zmhuman. He 
was about five feet tall. Clad in a jacket 
of some sort, wearing sandals, bare- 
headed, he stood there and looked down 
at Dawson with utterly impersonal eyes. 
His face seemed as though it had been 
modeled by a classic sculptor. The fea- 
tures were chiseled, perfect. 

"Yes," he said, and there was a sigh 
in the words, a sigh heard as from far 
off. "I am perfect — with one fatal ex- 
ception." 

"You read my thoughts!" Dawson 
gasped. 

"Of course," the answer came. 
"Otherwise, how would I have known 
your name? How would I, on another 
occasion, have known you were hiding 
in the darkness watching a girl you had 
followed?" 

"Who — who are you?" Dawson whis- 
pered. 

"You may call me Karmak." 

Dr. Rutledge breathed a sigh that 
might have indicated relief. "I take it 
you've come for us," said he. 

Karmak nodded silently. 

The ghost had come again. And with 
him came — darkness. 

CHAPTER IV 

Other World 

T^HE first thing George Dawson no- 
ticed was the quietness. There was 
no sound, no noise. A big city is never 
completely quiet. But here there was 
utter silence. 


114 


AMAZING STORIES 


Dawson opened his eyes. He sat up, 
and found he was lying in a bed of some 
sort, but it was not his bed. He remem- 
bered, vaguely, that he had been 
dreaming. 

He had been in a hospital, seeking a 
phantom, and a physician had commit- 
ted suicide, and Dawson's weak heart 
had started throbbing. The memory of 
that agonizing pain jarred him to com- 
plete wakefulness. That was no dream. 
He had had a heart attack. . . . 

He was wearing a brown jacket now 
and brown shorts. He opened the jack- 
et, felt of his heart. It was beating 
rhythmatically, sturdily, as strong as if 
there had never been any leakage. And 
down his left breast was a long white 
line, a line that had not been there be- 
fore. It looked — why, it looked a little 
like the mark left by a surgeon's scal- 
pel! 

Dawson knew instantly what had 
happened. The knowledge left him 
breathless. 

"I've been cured," he muttered soft- 
ly. "I've had an operation — " 

A sound jerked his head around. 
There was another bed in the room. 
In it, Rutledge was sitting up. He had 
heard what Dawson said. 

"On earth," the physician com- 
mented, "we didn't cure hearts that 
were as bad as yours. Nor," he added, 
"did we have an antidote for certain 
poisons. And that means — " 

Rutledge shook his head. There was 
a window in the room and it attracted 
his eyes. He got up, walked to the win- 
dow, looked out — and recoiled in 
awed amazement. 

"Come and see!" he exclaimed. 
"Come and see!" 

Dawson got up and went to his side. 
A moment later a whistle of incredulous 
amazement burst from his lips. 

A city lay before them. And what a 
city! Designed by a master architect 


who knew the effect of every curve, the 
sparkle that could be produced by 
sharp towers, the secret of every color! 
Built by an engineer who knew the 
strength of every metal, the loading of 
every arch ! 

Majestic, inspiring, almost ethereal, 
the city rose regally into the sky, tow- 
ering for hundreds of stories above the 
surface below. 

It stretched away into the distance 
mile after mile, a city of gargantuan 
proportions in which every detail was 
as true and as perfect as if it had been 
carved by a craftsman in precious gems. 

A city of Titans, a city of supreme 
engineers. Dawson's eyes ran over it, 
incredulous, amazed. And then, far off 
to the left, he saw something that chilled 
his blood and started his nerves to rasp- 
ing. 

"Bombs!" he told himself bitterly. 
"Only bombs could cause wreckage like 
that." 

For in that region the lofty spires 
were twisted and torn, and holes gaped 
in all the buildings. 

Dawson looked upward. There was 
a reddish sun overhead, and in the sky 
a dark blot hung motionless. While he 
watched it began to move away to the 
south. 

"Hm-m — was that a ship?" Rutledge 
mused. 

"It must have been," Dawson re- 
plied. 

He put the ship out of his mind and 
again searched the city. Something else 
was wrong — very much wrong indeed! 

There were no people in sight! 

"VS/HAT'S happened to the inhabi- 
tants?" Rutledge demanded. 
Dawson could not answer him. 
Ramps, obviously designed for pedes- 
trians, stretched away in all directions. 
But nothing alive moved on the ramps. 
He saw dozens of flat roofs — landing 


PLANET OF DOOMED MEN 


115 


fields — but no planes in sight. There 
were no airships anywhere, nothing ex- 
cept that one dark ominous blot that 
had moved out of sight toward the 
south. 

Rutledge turned from the window, 
glancing toward the door. "I thought I 
heard someone walking," he said. 
•There it is again! Hear it?" 

Soft footsteps were clearly audible on 
the other side of the door. 

"Wait," Rutledge warned when Daw- 
son started forward. "We don't know 
what it is. It might be almost any- 
thing." 

Dawson paused, his hand on the door- 
knob. The physician was right. Any- 
thing might be out there. As he hesi- 
tated, the footsteps came nearer. Then, 
under his hand the knob began to 
turn — 

Dawson yanked the door open. A 
youth tumbled into the room. The psy- 
chic investigator grabbed him. 

"Who are you?" he snapped. 

"Why— I—" It was only a boy. He 
stared at Dawson from frightened eyes. 
Then he saw Rutledge, and gasped a 
single word. 

"Dad!" 

"Jack!" Rutledge cried. "Oh, my 
boy, I've found you again at last!" 

The two rushed unashamedly into 
each other's arms. Jack Rutledge was 
a handsome youngster, tall well-pro- 
portioned, eager for life and all its 
promises. There were honest tears in 
the eyes of both father and son; tears 
which revealed that for all his cyncism, 
the middle-aged physician was under- 
neath it all a man who had wrapped 
about himself a mantle of brusqueness 
to ward off the pressure of responsibil- 
ity and the barbs of jealous critics. 

Finally Rutledge turned to Dawson, 
a new light in his eyes. 

"My son," he said proudly. "Not a 
bad looker, eh? A chip off the old block, 


what?" 

"Well, not quite so hard a chip," 
Dawson muttered, and clasped the 
youth's outstretched hand warmly. 

"Look at this leg," Jack Rutledge 
said happily. "It's as sound as the other 
one." 

He kicked with it, pranced on it, 
swung it up for inspection. 

His father's face grew serious again. 
He poked his fingers into the leg mus- 
cles, felt the knee joint, pounded on the 
knee cap to test the nervous reaction. 

'"pHERE was wonder in Rutledge's 
eyes. "The tissues have been re- 
stored completely. A perfect job. Daw- 
son, your heart, Jack's leg, and my 
faith in life — fellow, in this world there 
are some super-surgeons!" 

"In this world, yes," Dawson 
agreed. "Where you find super-engi- 
neers and super-architects, you will also 
find super-surgeons. And now I know 
why Karmak took the crippled and the 
maimed, people who were dying. Be- 
cause in this world there are surgeons 
who can make them well. . . ." 

He paused, and when he spoke again 
there was perplexity in his voice. 

"But who and what is Karmak? 
What does he want with us? And where 
are we, anyway?" 

"That's what I'd like to know," Jack 
Rutledge spoke up. All I remember is 
going to sleep in the hospital. I had a 
funny sort of dream. A strange little 
man came for me. He told me to fol- 
low him, made me want to follow him. 
I followed him and then I went to sleep 
again. I don't know how long I slept, 
but when I woke up, I found my leg had 
been cured. 

"At first I thought Dad operated on 
me while I was asleep, but then I dis- 
covered I wasn't in the hospital. I 
called and no one came. So I got up 
to look for someone. Dad — what really 


AMAZING STORIES 


116 

happened?" 

Rutledge tried to explain. But his 
voice faltered. "I don't know, son. Mr. 
Dawson said something about other 
worlds. I — I guess we're on one of 
them." 

There was a blank spot in all their 
memories. They had seemed to sleep. 
How long they slept, they could not 
even guess. It had been long enough 
for a surgical incision to heal complete- 
ly. On earth, that sometimes took 
weeks, or even longer. 

"Wonder what happened to the rest 
of— of us," Dawson muttered, frown- 
ing. "We know that at least forty people 
disappeared. Did you see anyone else?" 
he asked Jack. 

"No. I went in two other rooms, but 
they were both empty." 

"We'll look for the others then," 
Dawson said. "They should be here." 
They began a search. And began to find 
what and whom they sought: fright- 
ened, wondering, awed men and wom- 
en. The erstwhile hospital patients 
were wandering along corridors", peer- 
ing from windows, peeping out at the 
spectacular city. Twenty-eight of them 
were found. But not Karmak. Nor 
again Mary Nolan. 

Dawson's face grew grim. Then Jack 
Rutledge glancing out a window, called, 

'"There's somebody down below us 
here, Mr. Dawson. And it looks like a 
girl." 

Dawson took one look and his heart 
leaped. In spite of the girl's abbrevi- 
ated costume, there was no mistaking 
her. It was Mary Nolan! 

nPHE girl walked out along a ramp 
and was looking down at the city. 
Dawson could see the rapt expression 
on her face. She had been blind; but 
now she could see. And she stared in 
ecstatic rapture at the city about her, 
drinking in its beauty through eyes to 


which perfect vision had been restored. 

His heart pounding, Dawson opened 
the window and leaned out to call to 
her. But the words fairly froze on his 
lips. With a horrified gasp he stared, 
thunderstruck. 

A round, fat-bellied ship was arrow- 
ing down out of the sky. Coming at 
tremendous speed, it was diving straight 
at the unsuspecting girl! 

"Look out!" Dawson shouted. "Look 
out, Mary Nolan!" 

His voice startled the girl. She 
glanced upward instinctively. She saw 
Dawson at the window — and at the 
same instant the roar of the diving 
ship rose to a tornadic crescendo. 

Like a bolt of lightning it hurtled 
out of the sky, driving in a mad fury 
of speed straight toward the helpless 
girl. It was the same ship Dawson had 
glimpsed before. Lingering over the 
city, screaming down the skylanes for 
its human victim. 

Mary Nolan saw it coming, cried out 
and turned to run. Too late — the ship 
was already there. 

Thirty feet below the window where 
Dawson stood, the ramp began. It was 
a dangerous drop. If he missed the 
ramp, he would fall for hundreds of 
feet to the ground below — 

He jumped, hit limber as a rag, rolled 
over and over, scrambled to his feet in 
time to hear the girl's screams. 

The ship had rocketed now to a blast- 
ing stop. No shots were fired at Mary 
Nolan. Instead, creatures leaped to the 
ramp and seized her as she tried to run. 
She struck at them widly, kicked, 
scratched, but as Dawson raced toward 
her, one of the attackers smashed her 
in the face, a cruel knockout blow. 
As she collapsed another creature 
grabbed her, swung her over his shoul- 
der and leaped into the ship. The port 
was slammed shut. Motors howling, the 
vessel leaped upward, carrying the girl 


PLANET OF DOOMED MEN 


117 


with it. 

Mary Nolan had been kidnaped! 
And by the most repulsive of creatures! 
They looked a lot like overgrown mon- 
keys, with tails, pointed ears and furry 
bodies. The second he saw them, Daw- 
son's gorge rose within him. 

Helpless, he stood there cursing, 
shaking his fist at them, while the ship 
sped away. 

Then — "Dawson!" Rutledge yelled 
from the window. "Look out! There's 
another one!" 

'"PHAT very second it was diving 
down toward him, coming so fast 
that Dawson didn't have a chance to 
escape, even if he had wanted to. For 
he didn't attempt to run. Let them cap- 
ture him, too! Then he might have a 
chance to rescue Mary Nolan. Let them 
take him inside the ship! If he couldn't 
whip twice his weight in those monkey- 
like creatures, he'd know the reason 
why. 

Air screamed as the vessel braked to 
a halt beside him. Dawson dropped to 
a half crouch, the weight on the balls of 
his feet. The port door swung open. 

But nothing leaped out at him! 

Then Dawson saw that this ship was 
built on a different design. It was long 
and slender, like a torpedo. Sitting at 
the pilot's seat was — Karmak! 

"Get in," said Karmak. "Quickly." 

Surprise held Dawson motionless. He 
had expected more monkey-creatures to 
swarm from this ship. Instead it was 
piloted by a ghost, a phantom, an illu- 
sion. By Karmak himself! 

"I'm real in this world," Karmak im- 
perturbably explained. "In your world 
I was a phantom, but here I'm an actual 
entity. And if you want to save Mary 
Nolan, you had better enter this ship. 
There is no time to be lost. 

Dawson leaped into the vessel. Kar- 
mak sent it screaming upward in mad 


acceleration. His passenger stifled the 
questions he wanted to ask, as the 
ghost-being motioned him toward a pad- 
ded seat. 

"In the world from which you came," 
Karmak said, "you would call that de- 
vice in front of you a gun. All you have 
to do is aim it and press the button." 

It looked a little like a machine gun. 
Dawson squinted through the sights. 

"But I can't shoot without taking a 
chance of hitting Mary!" he protested. 

"That's true," Karmak agreed. "I'll 
bring us up even with them. A shot 
into the rear of their ship will cripple 
their motors." 

"But they'll crash!" 

"No. Their anti-gravitors are located 
in the nose of the ship. The machine 
will float gently down without danger 
if you stop its motors." 

"I hope you know what you're do- 
ing," Dawson gritted. 

Covertly he studied this enigmatic 
stranger, trying to fathom the mystery 
that lay behind him. A phantom in 
"your" world but real "here"! What 
incredible secret lay behind those 
words? 

They were rapidly overhauling the 
fleeing ship then, when a spurt of flame 
flashed outward. 

"They're shooting at us!" Dawson 
shouted. 

Karmak's answer was to shove the 
power bar forward another notch. He 
showed no trace of emotion, no sign 
that he realized their danger. 

"Aim!" he said abruptly. He had 
brought their vessel even with the flee- 
ing ship. 

rvAWSON lined up the sights. He 
squeezed the trigger, then groaned. 
The bright spurt of flame that lanced 
from the gun missed the other vessel. 
Before he could aim again, Dawson felt 
his own ship swerve under him. It swept 


Below her was an incredible city Dice no city en earth 
118 


PLANET OF DOOMED MEN 


119 


out and away in a great curving arc. 

"What did you do that for?" he 
blazed. "Now they may get away be- 
fore we can get into position again." 

"In this war," Karmak impersonally 
replied, "you're usually allowed only 
one shot. If you miss that one shot, 
you don't often get another one. Well, 
you missed." 

"What the hell is this! We can try 
again," Dawson protested angrily. 

"No," Karmak replied steadily. 
"There's nothing we can do now. 
They've gotten away. See." He pointed. 

Looming in the distance was a gigan- 
tic pile of masonry. Glinting brilliantly, 
the sun reflected back the bright gleam 
of metal. It looked to be a huge for- 
tress, as harsh and utilitarian as the city 
they had left was beautiful. A thin 
web, like a gauze curtain, sparkled in 
the air around it. 

"It is a fortress," Karmak said, his 
explantion following so closely on what 
Dawson was thinking that he knew the 
other was reading his mind again. "The 
fortress of the Tolzans. And that web, 
which looks so thin, is an impenetrable 
ion screen. And there, rising from the 
fortress, is the reason we cannot go 
farther." 

Dawson saw them — black dots rising 
upward like hornets. 

"We may escape," said Karmak 
calmly. "We may not. The odds are 
about even." 

He shoved the power bar forward to 
the last notch and the motors howled as 
the ship headed home. 

"But they've got her! " Dawson cried. 
"We've got to rescue her. We can't 
leave her there, a prisoner of those — 
those things!" 

"We have no other choice. If we 
attempt to rescue her, we will die our- 
selves." 

"Then we'll die!" said Dawson sav- 
agely. 


"No," said Karmak flatly. "Not you. 
We need you. We will not permit one 
of you to die if we can help it." 

"But you're letting her die!" 

"Not yet. It may be that the Master 
can rescue her." 

"The Master?" Dawson demanded. 

Uneasily he remembered he had 
heard Mary Nolan say, while she talked 
with a phantom in her hospital room: 

"The Master needs me? But why 
does he need me?" 

Karmak offered no answer. He drove 
the ship so furiously that the throbbing 
motors roared in protest. Behind them 
the black ships of the Tolzans trailed 
relentlessly. As they neared the city, 
torpedo ships rose up to meet the in- 
vaders and the black ships drew reluct- 
antly away. 

Karmak set the vessel down on a roof 
landing. As Dawson stepped out, Dr. 
Rutledge came from below to greet 
him. 

'"THE first thing Dawson saw was the 
weapon that had been erected on 
the roof. It pointed a blunt barrel at 
the sky. Two men who much resembled 
Karmak served as its crew. Looking 
over the city, Dawson saw many of the 
weapons on the roofs. And high over- 
head a fleet of torpedo ships swung in 
a great circle. 

"They began setting those guns up 
as soon as you were gone," Rutledge 
explained. "I gathered they were ex- 
pecting something to follow you back 
and were arranging a warm reception." 

Dawson frowned. Who had ordered 
the defenders out? Where had they 
come from? The city had looked de- 
serted. Now an air armada swarmed 
over it. 

Dawson turned sharply to Karmak, 
who was still seated at the controls. 

"There are some things," he said 
bluntly, "that I want to know. Where 


120 


AMAZING STORIES 


is this city? Who are you? Who is the 
Master? What's the reason back of all 
this?" 

Karmak started to answer, then 
looked appraisingly at Dawson. Some- 
thing made him change his mind. 

"The Master needs me," was all he 
would say. "I must go to him." He 
started to close the port door. 

"No you don't," Dawson said sharp- 
ly. He wedged himself into the port. 
"Before you get away from here, you're 
going to talk." 

Karmak showed no sign of annoy- 
ance. His perfect features were utterly 
calm. For a moment he studied the 
grim man who faced him. Then he 
reached forward and simply shoved 
Dawson out of the way. He had taken 
the ship into the sky before Dawson 
could scramble to his feet. 

"They don't want to talk," Rutledge 
shrugged. "I tried." 

Dawson got to his feet. "Somebody 
is going to talk," he said dangerously. 
He walked across the roof to the gun 
crew. 

One look at them and all his baffled 
truculence vanished. What he saw was 
utterly incredible. 

If the two men at the gun had been 
identical twins, they could not have 
been more alike. More incredible still, 
they both looked exactly like Karmak. 
Nose, eyes, features, haughty imper- 
sonal stare, height, coloring — every- 
thing was exactly the same, to an in- 
credible degree. 

"They look as though they all came 
out of the same mold," said Rutledge 
uneasily. 

"What's your name?" asked Dawson 
as he approached the nearest man. 

"Karmak," the reply came. Dawson 
went pale. 

"And yours?" he rasped at the second 
one. 

"Karmak." 


■p\AWSON expelled his breath in a 
panting sigh. This was too much. 
He felt a little silly, as if somebody was 
making fun of him. But there was noth- 
ing funny about those two stern, imper- 
sonal creatures who stood there, each 
assuring him that his name was Kar- 
mak. There was something terrible 
about it, something frightening. It be- 
came more terrible and more frighten- 
ing when he asked them what they were. 

"We," they both chimed, "are an ex- 
periment that failed." 

Dawson drew away from them. Long 
habit enabled him to control his nerves. 
But still he didn't want to be too close to 
them. In spite of the fact that a crea- 
ture just like them had tried to help 
him rescue Mary Nolan, he could not 
be certain that they were friendly. 

When he resumed his questions, they 
shut up like clams. During the time he 
had been talking to them, he noticed 
that they became sluggish in their 
movements. The color drained out of 
their faces, their eyes seemed to get 
heavy. It was with difficulty that they 
stood erect. 

"Go away," they said. "Go away." 

"Is something wrong?" Dawson de- 
manded. "Are you sick?" 

"No," the sluggish answer came. 
"The Master rests . . ." 

They seemed to think that was suf- 
ficient explanation. When Dawson 
asked further questions, they both sat 
down, yawned, rolled over on their 
backs — and went to sleep. Swear and 
prod, Dawson couldn't awaken them. 

"They're fine soldiers," Rutledge 
grimaced. "Sleeping at their posts! 
They could be shot for this." 

"Come away and leave them alone," 
Dawson replied. "There's something 
distinctly wrong about them." 

And then his eyes grew round and 
bewildered. Across the roof tops, as far 
as he could see, gun crews were sleeping 


PLANET OF DOOMED MEN 


121 


at their weapons. 

CHAPTER IV 

What the Stars Told 

"T'VE been thinking," Roy Glenn said, 
as he glanced upward at the reddish 
sun, "I'm an amateur astronomer. You 
understand — it was a hobby." 

"When night comes, perhaps we can 
tell where we are by the stars. What I 
mean is, if we can find any of the con- 
stellations we know, we can be pretty 
certain we're still in the solar system." 

"What makes you think we might be 
in the solar system?" Rutledge 
questioned the man, one of the twenty- 
eight patients rediscovered. 

"I don't have any reason for think- 
ing that we are," Glenn answered. "But 
we might be. We might be on one of 
the planets — Mars, or possibly Venus. 
Although this world shouldn't be Venus, 
because there aren't many clouds in the 
sky and Venus is covered by clouds all 
the time. 

"Maybe Karmak had a space ship 
hidden somewhere. Maybe he put us 
in that ship and brought us to Mars. Of 
course, I know space ships haven't been 
invented on earth yet, but they might 
have been invented in the world that 
Karmak came from. And maybe that's 
what's happened to us," he finished 
lamely. 

Rutledge glanced at Dawson. "What 
do you think? Is Glenn possibly on the 
right track?" 

"I'd only be guessing, too," Dawson 
answered. He looked at the sun, esti- 
mating its height above the horizon. 
"We'll know in an hour. Meanwhile, 
did anything happen while I was gone?" 

They had found more humans — fifty- 
three in all, with Mary Nolan making 
fifty-four — but Dawson had already 
been told about that, and Rutledge 


didn't repeat it. 

"We went exploring," Rutledge ex- 
plained. "I found their operating 
room." His voice quickened. "It was 
the most marvelous place I ever saw! 
They've got equipment that will make 
your head swim. And X-rays! You pos- 
sibly know that on earth there is no 
known device that will focus X-rays. 
But these people can do it! 

"You can see everything that's hap- 
pening inside the body, every bit of tis- 
sue, every bone, the individual cells 
even, if you want to focus that close. 
And they have other instruments that 
I can't begin to describe. 

"But I know this much. These people 
are ten thousand — no a hundred thou- 
sand years ahead of us!" 

"We've already surmised that much," 
Dawson nodded. "Did you find the sur- 
geons who used this marvelous operat- 
ing room?" 

"No," said Rutledge sadly. "We 
didn't find anybody." 

The physician sounded rather for- 
lorn. Indeed, there was a forlorn air 
about the whole group. They conversed 
softly, in awed whispers, and as the sun 
went down, they began to watch the 
sky expectantly. 

What they would see in the heavens 
meant a lot to them. It would tell them 
where they were, possibly tell them 
where home was — the earth from which 
they had been taken to serve as cogs in 
the machinery of some secret, bewil- 
dering scheme. 

HTHE sun was gone now. The whole 
group gathered around Roy Glenn, 
began to scan the heavens with him. 
One by one the stars came out. And 
again the group sighed with inner de- 
pression. 

For there was no known constellation 
in the whole sky. The Big Dipper was 
not there, nor Orion, nor the Pleiades, 


122 


AMAZING STORIES 


nor the Southern Cross, nor any con- 
stellation even remotely familiar. Nor, 
in fact, a single recognizable star. 

"We're out of our universe," Glenn 
muttered. "I've never seen any of these 
stars before, nor any of the constella- 
tions. We're not even in the solar sys- 
,tem. We've been warped completely 
out of our own solar system." 

There was pained silence. Men 
looked at each other and then away, try- 
ing not to say the things that were in 
their hearts. Their uneasiness grew, un- 
til Jack Rutledge, in a small voice, said: 

"Talk about Robinson Crusoe 1 He 
had nothing on us." 

His voice broke the tension. Some- 
one laughed, and another chuckle an- 
swered the first. 

And then, across the roof, a foot 
scraped heavily. The Karmaks had 
risen. Completely alert again, they 
were standing at attention beside their 
weapons. Suddenly one of the earth 
group cried out. 

A ship was coming through the star- 
light, a slim torpedo craft. It planed to 
a halt on the roof. Another Karmak 
emerged from it and came toward the 
expectant group. 

"Food has been prepared and is 
waiting for you down below," he an- 
nounced. "Unfortunately it is syn- 
thetic, but you will find it palatable, I 
think. Also your quarters are being 
made ready." 

They had forgotten about food in 
their alternate moods of excitement and 
depression. Now Jack Rutledge 
laughed. 

"Lead me to it! I could eat a cow and 
bawl for the calf." 

Dawson started automatically to fol- 
low the others, but Karmak spoke to 
him. 

"I have a message for you." 

"Who from? What is it?" 

"From the Master. He says that to- 


night, after you have eaten, you and I 
may attempt to rescue the girl. He will 
assist us." 

Dawson's heart leaped. "In that 
case," he exclaimed, "I can get along 
without eating!" 

A chance to rescue Mary Nolan! It 
was the thing that had tortured his 
thoughts for hours. His purpose in ques- 
tioning the gun crew had been to find 
out if he could obtain a ship. Now the 
opportunity had come. 

Karmak, moving rapidly, led him to 
the vessel. 

"Your people seem to have come out 
of their trance," Dawson observed. 

"Yes," came the unemotional answer. 
"The Master no longer rests. In con- 
sequence we are busy." 

"Then you loaf when he isn't on the 
job?" 

"No," Karmak dissented. "It's not 
like that. When he rests, we rest too." 

It was an enigma that the fellow ap- 
parently had no intention of clarifying. 
When Dawson asked further about the 
Master, he got no answer at all. 

TNSIDE the ship four of Karmak's 
duplicate companions waited, each 
looking exactly like the other. 

"Tell me which is which," Dawson 
questioned. "I can't tell you apart." 

"If it will help your peace of mind, 
I am the first one you met, the one who 
appeared to you in your world. Now, no 
more questions. If we are to defeat 
the Tolzans, the task will require our 
entire attention." 

"In that case," Dawson replied, "I'll 
subside." 

He did keep silent. But the questions 
kept turning over in his mind. The ship 
slid into the air, sped whistling to the 
southward. The fortress of the Tolzans 
came into sight presently, its ion screen 
a luminous blur. It was a huge thing, 
miles in circumference. 


The castle loomed out of the mists before us 


"Getting into that place is going to 
take some doing," Dawson told himself. 

He was ready to take the chance, al- 
though he guessed there must be thou- 
sands of the monkey-men inside the 
huge pile of metal and stone. He won- 
dered how Karmak, or his hidden, enig- 
matic Master, had planned for them to 
obtain entrance; or, once they got in- 
side, to accomplish their mission. The 
ion screen was supposed to be impen- 
etrable. 

"We will stop here," Karmak said. 
He lowered the ship into a dark ravine, 
carefully jockeying it out of sight 
among the trees, landed. He opened 
the port door then and stepped out, his 
four comapnions following like wooden 
soldiers on parade. 

"Are we going to tackle that place 
on foot?" Dawson demanded. 

"There is no other way. Our ship 


cannot pierce the screen," Karmak 
answered. "There is a gate near here. 
We will enter through that." 

He slipped away into the star- 
broken darkness, his men following 
closely. Dawson joined them, thinking 
that perhaps Karmak knew of a secret 
passage. 

Above them the fortress rose into the 
night, a black mo.untain surrounded by 
nebulous witchfire. 

They came to the end oi the ravine, 
emerged from it. The gate was readily 
visible ahead of them. There was noth- 
ing secret about it. It stood right out 
in the open, the ion screen coming down 
and touching it. 

And it was guarded. At least twenty 
of the monkey-creatures lounged in 
front. Dawson's fingers closed over 
Karmak's shoulder, his fingers biting 
into the flesh. 


124 


AMAZING STORIES 


"Is that the entrance we're supposed 
to use?" 

"That is correct." 

"But it's in the open and it's 
guarded!" 

There was not a scrap of cover within 
a hundred yards. The starlight and the 
glow from the ion screen showed up 
every detail. 

"Yes, it's in the open and it's guarded. 
But we're going to pass through it. And 
if you value the life of Mary Nolan, 
do exactly as we do, and under no cir- 
cumstances utter a sound." 

TT was impossible to believe that Kar- 

mak was lying. Yet Dawson remem- 
bered that something was not right 
about this people. Were they really al- 
lies of the monkey-men? His knuckles 
hardened as his hands balled into fists. 
The skin drew tight over his cheeks. 

But there was nothing he could do ex- 
cept follow the Karmak. And perhaps 
they were going to rush the gate. A 
blast of devastating fire and then a 
rush? It might work. Something had 
to work, Dawson thought grimly. 

Karmak did not order his men to 
fire. He did nothing, except stand still. 
Dawson caught the fleeting impression 
that the fellow was conversing with 
some unseen presence. Or perhaps he 
was praying. His eyes were partly 
closed and his impersonal face was even 
more immobile than usual. 

Karmak opened his eyes. A frown 
of concentration creased his forehead. 
He took Dawson by the hand and 
walked into the open, straight toward 
the gate, his four companions marching 
behind. 

They were plainly visible now. There 
was no cover of any kind. Yet Karmak 
was marching straight toward that 
guarded gate, making no effort to hide. 

"But—" 

"Silence!" Karmak hissed venom- 


ously. 

Dawson bit his lips. They marched 
forward, directly toward the gate. The 
guards glanced at them, then looked 
away, seemingly without seeing. Kar- 
mak pushed the barrier aside and the 
little party passed through the gate, 
through the ion screen, and into a cor- 
ridor. 

Dawson was sweating profusely. 
Karmak had got them past the entrance 
after all. He was not a traitor. 

It was not until then that Dawson 
realized that something invisible, un- 
seen, unheard guarded them, concealed 
them somehow. Some tremendous 
power was laid over them. They were 
protected by a hand whose power was 
all the greater because of its invisibility. 

There are two kinds of illusions, 
Dawson knew. In the first, the specta- 
tor sees an object or a person that is not 
present. Karmak, or his hidden Master, 
was using the second type, in which the 
spectator does not see an object or a 
person that is present. 

It was invisibility, worked through 
mental control. The minds of the 
guards had been seized by a stronger 
brain than theirs, and the hypnotic ef- 
fect of that higher mind kept them from 
seeing the intruders pass. 

Sweat ran down Dawson's face. A 
coldness chilled his body. For the first 
time in his life he knew the meaning 
of real fear, a sick chill that settled at 
the pit of his stomach. He was glad 
that those secret surgeons had repaired 
his heart. Otherwise it would never 
have stood the strain. 

The tension was getting to Karmak, 
too, for his face had lost its immobility. 
It was lined now with wrinkles, and 
his lips were pulled back over his teeth 
in a fighting snarl. He was as tense 
as a scared cat and his actions were 
timed to split seconds, his eyes darting 
everywhere. But he never hesitated 


PLANET OF DOOMED MEN 


125 


on a turn, never faltered. 

They encountered monkey men, at 
first only a few, then more and more, 
and as the creatures increased in num- 
ber, the lines of tension dug deeper into 
Karmak's face. 

These Tolzans began to look doubt- 
ful, to glance around, to call nervously 
to each other, as if they were beginning 
to suspect the presence of intruders in 
their fortress, as they guessed that 
something was wrong. They didn't 
know what was wrong, but occasionally 
Dawson caught startled glances from 
the monkey creatures, as if they almost 
saw him. 

Then Karmak, hurrying through the 
maze of corridors like a hound hot on 
the scent of prey, stopped suddenly and 
opened a door. 

One glance inside, and Dawson's 
heart rose into his throat. Mary Nolan 
was tied to a chair inside that room — 
with four Tolzans as guards. 

CHAPTER V 
Inside the Fortress 

\X7"HEN the door opened, an instant 
elapsed before Karmak could 
reach the minds of the Tolzans inside 
the room. His brows knotted with the 
intensity of his concentration. An in- 
credible wave of mental force seemed 
to flow from him. The monkey-men 
looked up, blinked — and froze into 
immobility. 

"Inside, quickly!" Karmak hissed. 
They leaped inside, closed the door. 

Karmak, at the moment of entering, 
had extended his control to Mary Nolan 
so that no startled look from her would 
betray them. Now he released her 
mind, and she saw them. 

"George Dawson!" she whispered. 
She was too stunned to move. In that 
terrible prison, in the heart of that 


vast stronghold, the girl had thought 
herself beyond help. "Are — are you 
real? Or am I — seeing things that 
aren't there?" 

"I'm real, all right," Dawson an- 
swered, trying to keep the emotion out 
of his voice. He started to explain what 
had happened, but the sudden sound of 
another voice brought home the terrible 
danger that was all around them. 

It was a Tolzan who spoke, a mon- 
key-man! 

"I — I am positive the door opened a 
second ago," he was saying. 

"Yes," said another. "It did open. 
And it closed. But no one came in." 

"There is," a third creature said, 
"a center of force here in the room. 
It is trying to control our minds." 

Karmak's power was weakening. 
These four Tolzans were of a higher 
type than the ones in the corridors. 
They looked more intelligent and their 
uniform decorations indicated they were 
of higher rank in the Tolzan scheme of 
things. 

"Seize their minds ! " Dawson whisp- 
ered excitedly to Karmak. 

Sweat was pouring from Karmak's 
face as he attempted to maintain his 
control over the four guards. Tried 
and began to fail! 

"I can't," he wailed. "I can't—" 

"But you must! We can't get out of 
here if you don't. Bring your hypnotic 
powers into focus!" 

"I can't" Karmak whispered again; 
and when Dawson shook him, he began 
to tremble. "You don't understand — 
I have no power. It is the strength of 
the Master flowing through me that con- 
trols other minds. And the Master 
weakens— he must rest—" 

"He can't weaken! We'll never get 
out without his help! " Dawson pleaded. 

"He is weakening. He must — must 
rest. He is — ill. He can't — do any- 
thing more." 


Dawson brought his gun up, and the Taiwan's body glowed silently and he died 


Until then Dawson had not realized 
that the tremendous power Karmak 
wielded came from another source, that 
Karmak was in reality only a remote- 
control relay station. The fellow was 
fighting desperately to maintain the 
upper hand, but it was patently a losing 
fight. 

"I see them!" one of the Tolzans 
shouted suddenly. "Karmaks! Right 
here in this room ! Destroy them!" 

His hand dived toward a belt gun. 

T~\AWSON took one step. The Tol- 
zan's hand was moving like light- 
ning toward his weapon. Dawson 
brought up his fist. It had every ounce 
of his strength behind it. Hard knuckles 
connected like a mallet with the Tol- 
zan's chin. A numbness sped down 
Dawson's arm. But the chin of the 


monkey-man jerked backward. The 
sharp crack! of a breaking vertebra 
was loud in the room. The Tolzan guard 
turned a double somersault backward, 
his neck broken. He was dead before 
he hit the floor. 

But there were three others. Their 
guns were out now and coming up. 
Dawson dived. He struck the nearest 
monkey-creature just above his furry 
knees, and the smash of his tackle car- 
ried another Tolzan with him. What 
the third guard was doing, Dawson did 
not know. He had his hands full with 
the two he had tackled. 

He thought he had an armful of 
snakes, from the agility with which the 
creatures moved. Neither could fire 
at him for fear of hitting the other, 
but they could claw and scratch, and 
their teeth were viciously sharp. 


PLANET OF DOOMED MEN 


127 


Dawson brought up a knee. It 
struck one of the Tolzans in the stom- 
ach. Whooshing air, he subsided. 
Dawson grabbed the other, only to hear 
a sodden thump and feel the creature 
go limp in his hands. He looked up and 
saw Mary Nolan bending over him, a 
gun in her hand raised and ready to 
strike again. 

Good girl, Dawson thought. He 
looked for the fourth Tolzan, saw him 
lying on the floor near the door. His 
body was still jerking. 

"I shot him with a gun one of your 
friends dropped," Mary said. "But I 
couldn't shoot the two you were fighting 
with. You were in the way all the time! " 

"Very good," Karmak spoke unex- 
pectedly, his voice faint with weakness. 
"Excellent job. Proves the Master was 
right. Must rest — now." 

He was already lying on the floor. 
As he uttered the last words, his eyes 
closed. He and his four companions 
calmly went to sleep. 

"Are they hurt?" Mary asked, con- 
cerned. 

"Hell, no!" Dawson snorted. "But 
something is wrong with them, and this 
going-to-sleep business is part of it." 

He tried to arouse them, but they lay 
like the dead. 

"I hate to tell you this," Mary told 
him, "but one of those monkey-crea- 
tures may come in any minute. They've 
been running in and out of here ever 
since they brought me in." 

Dawson picked up the hand gun that 
one of the Karmaks had dropped. 

"I pity any monkey-man that comes 
through that door!" 

He pulled Karmak and his four com- 
panions to one side, so that they would 
not be the first object seen by anyone 
who entered. There was no exit from 
the room, other than the one door. 

"We've just got to wait until they 
decide they've rested long enough," he 


said. "All we can do is keep our chins 
up." 

"You don't have to tell me to keep 
my chin up!" Mary flared. 

"Sorry," Dawson answered. The girl 
was tense and still somewhat unnerved. 
He tried to grin, and her smile flashed 
a bit 'wanly in reply. "Mary, if we 
ever get out of this mess, there's some- 
thing I want to tell you. Remind me 
of it, will you, if I should forget." 

Mary blushed furiously. 'T will not!" 
she snapped. "If you can't remember 
it yourself, it's not my place to remind 
you — Watch out!" 

The door opened. A furry Tolzan 
stood there, gaping at them. 

•T^AWSON shot him. The gun did 
not discharge a bullet. But what- 
ever the missile was, it was deadly ef- 
ficient. A blazing electrical discharge 
raced over the Tolzan's body. Dawson 
caught him as he fell, jerked him inside, 
started to slam the door, when he saw 
another monkey-face staring round- 
eyed at him in the corridor outside. He 
fired again, but the face had vanished. 

A warning yell echoed down the 
corridor. It was immediately answered. 

Dawson bolted the door. "We're in 
for it. They know we're here now." 

He could hear the Tolzans gathering 
outside, their shrill voices chattering 
angrily. He collected all the guns, in- 
cluding those of the unconscious Kar- 
maks. Setting them within easy reach, 
he stretched himself on the floor. Mary 
picked up one of the guns and lay down 
beside him. 

"If you think you've got a monopoly 
on these things," she announced, 
"you're badly mistaken." 

"Okay, pal," Dawson grinned tightly. 
"They'll get us in time — but before they 
do, they'll think hell is a comfortable 
place compared to this ! " 

A heavy blow against the door 


128 


AMAZING STORIES 


drowned the girl's reply. The barrier 
was metal, and it clanged like a gong 
when struck. Another blow followed 
the first, and then another and yet an- 
other. Even metal couldn't withstand 
that pounding for long. It didn't. A 
panel was knocked loose and fell out. 

Greenish flame licked through the 
opening at them. They fired together. 
A yell sounded outside. 

"Singed one," Dawson diagnosed the 
yell. "Ah!" He fired again. Stabbing 
fingers of flame reached out at them, 
but the Tolzans could not shoot accur- 
ately without appearing before the 
hole. When they did that, they died — 
noisily. 

"Only one thing — " Dawson began. 

"What's that?" Mary demanded. 

He didn't answer. There was no 
point in wondering how long it would 
be before the Tolzans thought of using 
bombs. 

A second later they did think of it. A 
bomb come flashing through the open- 
ing in the door, fell sputtering at the 
far side of the room. Dawson leaped 
toward it. He knew he didn't have a 
chance to get to it in time, but at 
least he could make the attempt. As 
he scrambled toward it a lithe body 
leaped ahead of him, seized the bomb 
and flung it back out the door. 

The thunder of the explosion roared 
in the corridor, mingled with the 
screams of the monkey-men. 

"Thanks," said Dawson, mopping 
his brow. "So you woke up. You 
people go to sleep and wake up at the 
damnedest times!" 

But Karmak, who had caught the 
bomb, scarely heard him. He took in 
the whole situation at a glance. In- 
stantly reacting, he turned to his four 
companions, who had also awakened, 
and barked at them. 

"Two of you go out and clear the way 
for us." 


TPWO Karmaks promptly grabbed 
their guns from the floor. They 
didn't hesitate, didn't seem to stop to 
think. They had been given an order 
and they prepared to obey it. 

"But they'll be killed," Dawson pro- 
tested. 

"Certainly they will be killed," Kar- 
mak admitted. "We will go out right 
behind them. Give your weapons back 
to my other two men. They can use 
them better than you can." 

His manner was so forceful, his de- 
cisions so rapid, that Dawson didn't 
have a chance to object. 

The two Karmaks leaped through 
the door. Their weapons up, fire flash- 
ing from them, they charged out — arid 
died. 

As they fell, Karmak stepped for- 
ward. He hesitated a moment before 
he took the next move, and his eyes 
closed as if in silent prayer. Then his 
face wrinkled into that terrible frown 
of concentration. He stepped out just 
as the first two expired. Gun flashes 
had now died away, even those from 
the Tolzans. 

"Come on!" Karmak hissed. "We've 
got to move fast." 

The rest followed him with beating 
hearts. 

Outside the Tolzans stood around 
like so many statues, staring stupidly 
at — nothing. 

"What's happened to them?" Mary 
whispered, awestruck. 

"I think," said Dawson, "that the 
Master has finished resting and has got 
on the job again — with more power than 
ever." 

Karmak didn't say a word. But the 
lines in his face deepened as the terrible 
power flowed through him. He walked 
forward, moving like an automaton. 
The rest followed. As though hypno- 
tized, the Tolzans opened a lane and let 
them pass. 


PLANET OF DOOMED MEN 


129 


Then — they were out of the fortress, 
beyond the guards, past the gate. Safe. 
Sajel 

A screech came from behind them. 
Turning, they saw hordes of the furry 
monkey-men pouring out of the for- 
tress, coming after them like avenging 
furies. 

"I can't control them any longer," 
Karmak whispered. "We're too far 
away. And my power is failing. The 
Master must rest again." 

He faced Dawson. "You take Mary 
Nolan to the ship. You have watched 
me operate it and you know how to 
handle the controls. Go, now." 

Dawson did not move. "What about 
you?" he said bluntly. 

"We will hold the Tolzans while you 
escape." Karmak said the words casu- 
ally, as if they were of no importance. 

"You mean that while we run, you 
die," Dawson corrected. 

"Yes," Karmak admitted calmly. 
"We will die. But that does not matter. 
All that matters is that you and Mary 
escape." 

TDEHIND them the yells of the Tol- 
zans sounded clearly. 

"No sale," Dawson snapped. "There 
are some things I don't understand 
about you, pal. But if you think I'm 
going to run off to safety while you 
stay here and die, you're barking up 
the wrong tree. We all escape together 
— or we all die together. Right?" He 
glanced at Mary. 

"Right," she answered simply. 

"But you must go," Karmak was 
pleading. "It is the will of the Master. 
And you don't understand — about us." 

"To hell with the Master ! " Dawson 
stormed. " I understand bravery when 
I see it. You sent two of your fellows 
to their death in that corridor, before 
I knew what you were doing. But you're 
not going to send two more, yourself 


included, just so we can escape! No 
dice, my friend. I like to play games, 
but not that kind." 

Karmak's face writhed with pleading 
but he saw that Dawson was adamant. 
He seemed then to turn his mind in- 
ward. Again he looked as though he 
were praying. A wordless conference 
seem to take place. Then he looked 
up. There was the ghost of a smile on 
his face. 

"The Master says that your courage 
gives him strength to fight off his ex- 
haustion and aid us a while longer." 

"You mean he has seen everything 
that has gone on ! " Dawson exclaimed. 

"Of course. All that I have seen, 
he has seen. Every move I have made, 
he has directed. Now we must go. Not 
a moment is to be lost." 

CHAPTER VI 
The Master 

npHEY reached the ship, boarded it 
and took off. And just in time; 
for, from the huge Tolzan fortress be- 
hind them, a whole host of pursuers 
was rising. 

"They're after us hot and heavy," 
Dawson growled. 

"I think they're after more than us," 
stated Mary. "From what they said, I 
think they are planning a large-scale 
attack. They are ready to launch it 
at any moment, and our escape has been 
the signal that set them off." 

"The Big Push, eh? What else did 
you find out?" 

"Well, there have been sporadic out- 
bursts of fighting for years, possibly for 
centuries, between the Tolzans and 
something that lives in the city where 
we were taken. Seemingly neither side 
has been able to gain a victory, but the 
Tolzans have learned recently that their 
enemy was planning some new surprise 


130 


AMAZING STORIES 


against them. 

"I don't know exactly what that sur- 
prise was, but I think we're part of it. 
They had been watching the city 
closely, and when they saw me walking 
on the ramp, they decided to capture 
me, so they could ask questions." 

"What kind of questions?" Dawson 
wanted to know. 

"Who I was, what I was, where I 
came from. I tried to tell them and 
they became very excited. They called 
in their physicians and made a careful 
physical examination," Mary blushed 
a little there — "and then they called me 
a primitive form, 'Unquestionably 
primitive.' And that really excited 
them. 

" 'So that is what he has done!' they 
said, to each other. 'When his Kar- 
maks failed, he sought out a primitive 
form to bring against us.' Do you have 
any idea what they meant, George?" 

"I can guess. It's obvious that the 
Tolzans think we are to be used against 
them." 

Dawson glanced out at the fleeting 
landscape, and then back at the oncom- 
ing pursuit. It was gaining on them, 
the dark ships drawing closer, but Daw- 
son didn't mention it. Karmak, at the 
controls, had the power bar forward as 
far as it would go. 

In the end they were saved, not by 
their own efforts but by three torpedo 
ships that came whistling to meet them. 
Three ships from the city, vessels that 
Karmak and his companions used. 
They came up just as fingers of flame 
were beginning to reach forward from 
the Tolzan ships. 

The rescuers didn't hesitate, didn't 
attempt to set up a rearguard action. 
Spreading like a fan, the three ships 
drove headlong at the mass of Tolzan 
hornets. The night grew lurid with 
flame. A knot of ships milled in the 
sky, twisting, darting, turning. There 


was never any doubt about the outcome. 
The only doubt was how long it would 
be before three coffins of burning metal 
dropped to the ground. 

It might have been a minute, or two 
minutes. It was not long. The Daw- 
son group had gained the necessary dis- 
tance to make it to safety. The price 
had been the smashing of three ships 
and the death of their crews. 

■QAWSON prodded Karmak in the 
shoulder. "Did your Master send 
those ships out to aid us?" 

"Yes," Karmak replied. He seemed 
weary. 

"He sent them out to die so we might 
escape?" 

"Yes. To the Master, your lives are 
precious." 

"I gather that much," Dawson an- 
swered bitterly. His face clouded with 
anger. He was awed. And scared, too. 
Not of dying, but of that fearsome pur- 
pose that carelessly sacrificed lives that 
others might live. 

"I want to see this Master," he 
ground out. 

"That," Karmak answered, "is where 
I take you now, you and your fellows — 
to see the Master." 

The ship slid to a halt on a roof land- 
ing. As they stepped out, Dawson 
looked to the south. The night was 
alive with lights — the oncoming Tolzan 
horde. Flashing two-man pursuit ships, 
heavy cruisers, and bringing up the rear 
— the lumbering hulks of battleships; 
great monsters pushing their way 
through the skylanes. 

Not ten ships, not twenty ships. 
Hundreds of ships! 

"It's the Big Push, all right," Daw- 
son muttered. "They're coming with 
all they've got — and it looks like 
they've got plenty, and then some to 
spare." 

By the starlight he could see Kar- 


PLANET OF DOOMED MEN 


131 


maks on the roofs. They crouched at 
their guns, waiting. And from three dif- 
ferent hangars steady lines of ships were 
rising. Fighter after fighter took to the 
air. As he saw them going gallantly 
forth, Dawson knew a pain in his heart 
that was not physical. 

"It will be a battle all right," he mut- 
tered. "It will be a battle." 

Karmak was at his side now. "Come 
below. The Master waits," he was urg- 
ing. 

Obediently the group followed him. 
He led them below, where the other 
earth people waited. Rutledge's voice 
boomed once, at Dawson. 

"I see you brought her back," he 
said. "Good." He said nothing more. 
He and all the others knew a battle was 
coming. Looking from their windows, 
they had seen the combatants sallying 
forth. 

At a gesture from Karmak the entire 
group followed him downward. They 
came to the ground level and still headed 
down. Below the lower levels they 
found elevators functioning. Karmak 
motioned his charges to use them. 

After a sharp descent huge doors 
swung open, revealing a vast chamber 
ahead of the party. It stretched away 
on either side, a tremendous cavern. 
Except for an open space in the center, 
it was filled, literally crammed with a 
bewildering array of machinery, most 
of which was electrical. 

Switchboards and generators, the soft 
glow of tubes, round bulked housings 
that resembled cyclotrons but weren't, 
blank screens, apparatus that served an 
unguessed purpose — Dawson stared 
open-mouthed at the sight. 

In the open space in the center was 
— the Master. 

" A PPROACH," Karmak said. He 
led the way, then slipped unob- 
trusively to one side. 


Dawson looked once, a hurried 
glance, and then quit looking and 
started wondering. Around him he 
heard soft gasps. He felt a hand creep 
into his and, glancing down, saw Mary 
standing beside him. 

"He — he isn't like the Karmaks," 
someone whispered. 

"Nor the Tolzans," another said. 

"What— what is he?" 

The Master was old. That much was 
certain. His legs were withered, his 
body frail and slender, his skin as white 
as alabaster. He was sitting in a kind 
of chair that was more of a bed than 
it was a chair, his hands resting on the 
arms. Beneath his fingers, built into 
the arms of the chair, were row after 
row of buttons. 

There was a beard on his chin, a 
white beard. And his head — looking at 
that head, Dawson wondered how much 
knowledge it might contain. For it was 
big. Ten times as big as the head of a 
normal man, and all out of proportion 
to the body. A special rest supported 
it, enabling the aged patriarch to hold 
it erect. 

This was the Master. And he looked 
more dead than alive. Not until Daw- 
son saw his eyes did he fully realize 
that the Master was alive. For those 
eyes were bright. They glittered with 
an unmistakable brillance. 

As he watched, Dawson understood 
why the eyes were glittering. Tears 
were rolling from them. 

The Master was crying. 

Of all the things that had happened, 
this was perhaps the most incomprehen- 
sible. This frail creature sat there in 
his chair, and looked at them, and cried. 
Dawson felt the pangs of real sympathy. 
There was something heartrending 
about those tears; something awesome, 
too. It was Mary Nolan who under- 
stood that the Master did not have the 
strength to raise his arms. She stepped 


132 


AMAZING STORIES 


forward and dabbed at his cheeks with 
a tiny handkerchief. 

"Thank you," the Master said, his 
voice vibrant with emotion. "I — must 
apologize for this display, but if you 
knew how much it means to me to have 
you here, you would know why I can't 
help crying." 

Dawson was thoroughly touched. But 
when he remembered that it was this 
same Master who had sent crews of 
three ships to certain doom, his sym- 
pathy hardened. 

The Master read his mind. "They 
died willingly," he sighed. "To them it 
is all the same— life or death. They do 
not fear death because they have never 
been alive." 

"Never been alive!" Dawson gasped. 

"■VfO," the Master explained. "You 
see, they were an experiment that 
was unsuccessful. I could synthesize 
perfect bodies, but somehow I could 
never instill the life-force into those 
bodies, could never make them live. I 
could analyze the life-force, and the 
theory was correct, but somehow it 
would never work out. If I had had 
time — but the point was, I didn't have 
time." 

"Then Karmak — and his companions 
—they were synthetic creatures. You 
created them." 

"Certainly." 

"But they lived, they moved, they 
talked and breathed. They were alive." 

"I could animate them with my will. 
They then seemingly had life.When I 
withdrew my control, or when exhaus- 
tion forced me to rest — but look!" 

His eyes flicked to the left. Kar- 
mak, the imperturbable, the impersonal, 
lay there. He had slumped to the floor 
like a dead man. 

"I have withdrawn my control from 
him," the Master said. "And he lies 
like that. Nor will he awaken, nor 


move, nor show any life at all beyond 
a sluggish heartbeat and a shallow 
breathing, until I reinvest him with my 
will. In a sense — 

"Yes," the Master made a depre- 
catory gesture, "I see you were think- 
ing about them in your world. He is 
indeed a robot made of flesh. I assure 
you it is not my wish for him to be that 
way. I tried every way to make them 
live, but everything failed. And I had 
plans for them too, if I could find some 
method to make them live. 

"They were to be the race that car- 
ried on after me. As things turned out, 
I had no choice except to use them for 
another purpose. They became my 
hands, they did my bidding, carried out 
my orders. I can control each of them 
separately and thus accomplish many 
things otherwise impossible." 

Dawson's mind reeled. Robots! The 
Karmaks were robots. Now he under- 
stood the fatal defect Karmak had men- 
tioned. These faithful servants were 
not alive. 

They were inanimate bits of flesh un- 
til invested by a greater, stronger will. 
Then, too, their rest periods. When 
their aged Master relaxed, they rested 
with him. When he became too ex- 
hausted to control them, they sank into 
a drugged stupor. 

But what was the Master? And what 
was this strange world of his? 

When Dawson asked that question, a 
sudden silence fell. All the whispering 
ceased, the nervous shifting of feet. 
Everyone looked toward the ancient fig- 
ure seated in the chair. 

It meant a lot, the answer to that 
question. It gave purpose to every- 
thing that had happened — or took away 
all purpose and all meaning. 

"I," the Master said, "am human. I 
am a man. Rather, I am the far-re- 
moved descendant of the mutant which 


PLANET OF DOOMED MEN 


133 


you were expecting even in your day. 
I am the many times removed grandson 
of the superman you knew was coming. 
And this world — " he hesitated, and in 
the heavy silence someone caught his 
breath." 

" — is Earth." 

"LTE WAS fooling them, Dawson 
thought. He was playing with 
them, like a cat with mice. He was lying 
to them, had been lying to them all the 
time. This planet was not Earth, could 
not be Earth. The very stars in the 
heavens showed that the Master lied. 

Blood rushed to Dawson's face and 
his mouth opened to speak angry words. 
But the Master, smiling a little wanly, 
held up his hand. 

"Be not so impetuous, my son," he 
said. "All things come to those who 
wait, I believe it was once said on your 
Earth. Yes, the constellations you have 
seen in the heavens here and the stars 
are certainly different. But this is Earth 
— more than three-quarters of a million 
years after you left it. This is Earth in 
the beginning of its old age. The sun 
has grown red, and the constellations 
have shifted so you cannot recognize 
them. 

"You, George Dawson," the Master 
said, "have been shifted in time, lifted 
across the warped loops that made up 
time, into the future of which" — his 
old eyes went from man to man — "some 
of you have perhaps dreamed." 

It could be true. It might be true. 
There was a chance that this ancient be- 
ing was not lying to them. 

The Master went on to explain that 
he had worked out his time-transit 
method by means of a system of mathe- 
matics which had not yet been devel- 
oped in the twentieth century. 

This time-transference had been, too, 
a form of mental projection, with the ac- 
tive power emanating from the Master's 


super-brilliant mentality. Back in the 
year 1940, from which they had been 
"kidnaped", the ex-patients knew that 
each atom was a form of transmitting 
set in miniature, that thought-waves 
were closely allied with radio waves. 

But in 1940, although for centuries 
man had pondered the problem of mind 
over matter, the connection between 
atomic matter and thought-wave pro- 
jection had never been seriously con- 
sidered. The Master, then, had sent his 
mind back through time. 

He had, in a word, perfectly visual- 
ized scenes from history — that is, his- 
tory to him — and thus been able to re- 
create any particular historical condi- 
tion through thought-wave projection as 
applied concretely to atomic substance. 

T~\AWSON gasped at the implications 
of this great accomplishment. An- 
other aspect of the Master's doings, 
however, caused his brows to furrow. 

"But why," he asked, "why have you 
taken only the dying from the Earth? 
Why didn't you take the living?" 

The Master sighed deeply. "Because 
they were the only people I could work 
with. My power, vast as it is, has its 
limits, too. It is certainly not great 
enough to affect the living — those with 
a healthy life span ahead of them in 
which to work out their destiny. 

"The healthy individual will move 
and walk and talk and eat, and the 
strength of his normal energy forges ties 
which bind him to the present — his pres- 
ent. This relationship is so natural, so 
strong that even I cannot impede it. 
Nor, indeed, would I be so callous as 
to make the attempt." 

The Master's eyes were shining. "But 
as for those about to die — ah, that is 
another matter entirely! And so I took 
only those on the verge of death, be- 
cause the dead have no future, at least 
in my belief. The dying have no more 


134 


AMAZING STORIES 


work to do, no more energy to expend. 
And they would serve my purpose just 
as well. Once here, they could be 
cured." 

As he finished speaking, the floor 
trembled slightly. The Master's atten- 
tion was for a moment withdrawn. He 
seemed to be taking counsel with him- 
self. Then he spoke again. 

"If you have any further questions, 
ask them of me now. Time passes 
swiftly." 

"I have a question," said a member 
of the group. "Those Tolzans — those 
monkey-men? What are they?" 

"You have named them correctly. 
That's what they are — monkey-men. 
Just as I am a human mutant, they are 
monkey mutants. There were monkeys 
in your world, curious little beasts 
whom you suspected were your far-re- 
moved cousins. They also evolved, 
grew into creatures of great intelligence. 

"We ignored them, but two centuries 
ago they began to challenge our suprem- 
acy, our right to be masters of this 
world. They are still challenging it." 

There was unmistakable grimness in 
the Master's voice. 

"Two centuries ago, there were eleven 
of us. We lived here in this world, de- 
tached, aloof, our only link with the 
past the cities our race had built and 
then discarded. Sentimentally we kept 
those cities clean and neat. There were 
no other men. We were the last of the 
race, and we thought ourselves immortal 
and omnipotent. 

"Then the monkey mutants chal- 
lenged us. We had great powers and we 
thought nothing of the challenge. That 
was our first mistake. We underesti- 
mated the enemy. When the first Tol- 
zan attack was over, there were only 
two of us left alive. And if we were to 
remain alive, we had no choice except 
to hide. 

"Now, these monkey mutants were 


devilishly intelligent. They asked no 
quarter and they gave none. The driv- 
ing force of a young race was in them, 
and they were determined to rule, de- 
termined that men, who had for so many 
millenia been their masters, should be 
wiped out. 

"Before we had completed this ref- 
uge, my companion died and and I was 
left alone. His death shocked me ter- 
ribly. It was then I discovered that I, 
too, was doomed, that the Tolzan scien- 
tists had infected us with a subtle poi- 
son. My death was certain. All I could 
do was delay the day when it would 
strike. 

"I was the last man and I was dying. 
This did not seem to matter much. I 
would die. There would be another race 
on Earth. What difference would it 
make?" For a moment the Master 
paused, as if in reflection. 

"Then the old pride of race rose in 
me, the drive that has brought my kind 
down across the centuries. Should I let 
my race die out, let the last man die like 
a weakling here near the end of time? 
Should I betray the hopes and dreams 
of the past? No! Not while there was 
a single chance. 

"I created the Karmaks, hoping they 
would be the race to come after me. But 
— they failed. There was little time left 
for other experiments; and unfortu- 
nately, while I could send my mind back 
through time, I could not send myself. 
It was then that I thought to reach back 
through time to another age in order to 
find the parents of a new race to inherit 
my world. 

"That was why I brought you here. 
Not to fight the Tolzans, but to bridge 
the gap in time when the last man dies." 

T~\ AWSON'S mind was reeling. He no 
longer doubted. The Master was 
telling the truth. There was a plan and 
a purpose to it. The parts all fitted to- 


PLANET OF DOOMED MEN 


135 


gether like a blueprint: the blueprints, 
perhaps, of destiny. 

"The point, my son," the Master said, 
"is that destiny has no blueprints. There 
are no signboards to the future. You 
travel by trial and error." He paused, 
and his eyes ran over the group. 

"No one has asked the obvious ques- 
tion: Why did I reach back three-quar- 
ters of a million years, to your age, to 
secure the progenitors of a new race, 
when I could with greater ease have 
reached back three centuries, before the 
Tolzans came to power, and warned the 
Earth what was to happen?" 

No one could answer him. 

"There," the Master pointed toward 
Karmak, "is the answer! He has a per- 
fect body, though no mind. I have an 
almost perfect mind, but a body that a 
child could destroy. Man must be both. 
One without the other is worthless. That 
was why I reached back to your age. I 
wanted a primitive type, a strong mind 
in a strong body, because I, who thought 
myself perfect, am one of destiny's er- 
rors, doomed to destruction . . ." 

The Master's words ran off into si- 
lence. There was awe in the faces of 
the people who watched him. He had 
stood at the end of time, watching the 
doom of the human race come nearer 
and nearer, knowing that with him the 
last man died. He had stood there 
alone, the last of his companions gone. 

But he stood alone no longer. Now 
others stood beside him. 

Dawson stepped forward. "We un- 
derstand now, Master. And we're ready 
to help." 

A ghost of a wistful smile tugged at 
the Master's lips. 

"Thank you — " He started to say 
something else, but another tremor 
came, stronger than the first. The 
whole room rocked. A warning bell 
tinkled, a red light flashed. 

"What— what was that, sir?" 


The Master pressed a button on the 
arm of his chair. The lights dimmed 
in the chamber. Simultaneously a 
screen lighted up. 

They had forgotten, in listening to 
what they had been told, that there 
was a war outside. Now they remem- 
bered it. The screen was a mirror of 
harsh reality. 

Outside the sky was ablaze with 
lights. A maze of ships, locked in des- 
perate combat, was whirling like a pin- 
wheel in the night. Bright streamers 
of flame were reaching out. When 
they touched a ship, the stricken craft 
burst almost instantly into incande- 
scense, and came downward, down to- 
ward the earth, flaming like a falling 
star. When it struck another tremor 
shook the ground. 

Now and again one of the round ships 
of the Tolzans fell. But more often 
the craft that took the sickening plunge 
was a slim torpedo. 

"You said you were willing to help," 
the Master reminded them. "Are you 
willing to go out into that hell — and 
fight?" 

t'OR a second there was stunned 
silence. Out there in the bloody 
night a man would be whiffed to noth- 
ingness before a watch could tick twice. 
Everyone knew it. Together, the group 
numbered fifty-four. The Tolzans 
swarmed by thousands. 

A voice growled an answer. Later 
Dawson would realize it was his own 
voice speaking. Another answered it, 
and another, until the room echoed with 
the sound. 

"Give us ships! Give us guns! We'll 
fight! You're damned right we'll fight!" 

"No," the Master said. "I was only 
testing you. Come. Someone please 
give me a hand." 

At the Master's command Karmak 
came out of his sleep to aid him. So did 


136 


AMAZING STORIES 


Dawson. 

The aged patriarch was so weak, he 
could not walk alone. They helped 
him, Karmak on one arm, Dawson on 
the other. At the Master's orders they 
led him to another, larger chamber. It 
was an armory, a hangar. Ships were 
here, fighting craft, guns. One, larger 
"and sturdier than the others, stood 
apart from the rest. 

"Take me to that ship," the Master 
said. 

They helped him into it. There was 
a specially designed control chair. They 
helped the Master into it, and Karmak 
took up his place behind one of the 
guns. 

"Open that small box," the Master 
directed. "You will find a hypodermic 
needle in it." 

It was Dr. Rutledge who took the 
hypodermic needle from its place. His 
eyes were filled with questions, but the 
Master bared his arm and sternly told 
him to use the needle. The white flesh 
did not bleed when the point went 
home. 

"It will give me my old strength, for 
an hour," the Master said. "After that 
hour, what happens does not matter. 
I am going now. If I fail, take these 
ships and use them to fight your way 
clear. If necessary, flee to the planets. 
The ships will take you there." 

Dawson's face was pale and sorrow- 
ful. "But why can't we get into these 
ships and take you away with us?" 

"And leave the horde outside to fol- 
low you? No," said the Master stoutly. 
"Perhaps you will be able to find a 
refuge here on earth. At any rate, I 
leave you as my heritage all the knowl- 
edge your race has gained. It is recorded 
on tapes, and each ship contains a rec- 
ord. You will need centuries to under- 
stand it, but understand it you must. 
Your duty — and in this duty you must 
not fail! — is to provide the nucleus for 


a new race. That is all. Now close 
the door, please." 

HPHEY stumbled out of the ship a 
little dazed at the Master's calm 
heroism. Inside, motors began to throb. 
The ship lifted and began to move for- 
ward. A huge door in the hangar swung 
upward, revealing a great tunnel slant- 
ing toward the surface. The Master's 
ship moved into it, moved upward and 
away. 

He waved at them as he went out of 
sight. Then he was gone, with the 
faithful Karmak at the controls. 

"He's going out to fight those mon- 
key-men," Rutledge muttered doubt- 
fully. "And he's a walking dead man, 
if I ever saw one. It seems very odd 
that he could cure us but couldn't cure 
himself. But possibly that was be- 
cause he couldn't operate on himself. 
Say — where are you going?" 

Dawson was striding purposefully to- 
ward the nearest ship. 

"I'm going with him, after him. This 
is Armageddon, the battle at the end of 
time. He's gone out there to fight for 
us. If either of you think I'm going to 
stay here, you're both badly mistaken." 

He jerked the port open, clumped 
forward into the ship. 

"But he said — " Rutledge protested. 

"I don't care what he said. I'm go- 
ing!" 

Rutledge climbed in quietly beside 
him. "Well, then, what are we waiting 
for?" 

Dawson was about to snarl an an- 
swer. Then he saw the physician's face, 
and grinned. 

"Not a thing, Rutledge, not a thing! 
Say — take a look at that ! " 

All the others had seen their two 
leaders enter the ship. Now they were 
counting off into crews— and each crew 
was choosing a ship! 

"It looks like we're all going," Rut- 


PLANET OF DOOMED MEN 


137 


ledge grinned tightly. "Well—" The 
lock was suddenly opened. A youth 
entered. Rutledge took one look and 
grabbed him. 

"You're not going, son," he said 
roughly. "You've been through enough 
already." 

The boy's face lighted with the joy 
of impending battle. 

"Take it easy, Dad," he grinned. 
"Give us young fellers a chance, huh?" 

The physician's face worked strange- 
ly. He slowly relaxed his grip. Jack 
Rutledge slid behind a gun. 

"Cut her loose," he sang out. "I 
want out, and I want action!" 

"Close the lock," Dawson directed. 
The physician tried to shut it. It stuck. 
He opened it, to remove tie obstruction 
— and Mary Nolan stepped inside. 

"We'll make it a party," she said 
flatly. 

"No," said Dawson firmly. "Women 
stay here. This is a fight." 

"That's just the point, George." 

"Don't be a stubborn little fool! 
You're not going, and that's final." 

Dawson rose from his seat angrily. 
Mary faced him just as determinedly. 

"If you go out there and die, what 
is there left for me?" she said. 

l^"NOTS ribbed Dawson's jaw. He 
stood there undecided. Mary 
stared unflinchingly into his eyes. He 
sighed then, slipped back into the pilot's 
seat. Not another word did he utter. 

The huge doors leading to the tunnel 
were still open. Dawson had watched 
Karmak operate a ship almost identical 
with this one on the rescue trip to the 
Tolzan prison. The controls were the 
same. Confidently he pushed the power 
bar forward. 

And — nothing happened. 

He jabbed at the bar again, viciously 
pushing against it. A click sounded 
then from the instrument panel, and a 


tiny screen came to life. Wavering 
lines began to etch themselves across it. 
An image began to form. 

"It's a television screen," Rutledge 
whispered. 

"Look— the picture!" Mary ex- 
claimed. 

On the screen was the face of the 
Master. He was in his ship out there 
in the night sky. 

"Thank you for trying to help," his 
voice intoned. "I appreciate your 
loyalty. But I had foreseen that you 
would do this, against my orders, and I 
designed those ships so they will not 
move until I release them. I will fight 
the Tolzans. If I fail, I will release 
your ships, so that you may flee." 

"But we want to help you!" Dawson 
fairly shouted back. 

"The Karmaks are aiding me. 
Everything will be done that can be 
done. Remember — your duty is to live, 
not to fight and die." 

The screen went dead. 

"He's got some plan," Jack Rutledge 
said awesomely. "He knows some way 
to whip those monkey-men. He doesn't 
want us to get hurt." 

"Yes," Dawson answered savagely. 
He was midway between profanity and 
tears. All his instincts made him want 
to fight his own battles, to stand on his 
own two feet. "He's got a plan, all 
right. It's for us— What the hell's 
that?" 

At the entrance of the tunnel a figure 
had appeared. It glanced inside, then 
ducked out of sight. 

"A monkey-man!" Jack Rutledge 
yelled. 

"They've landed in the city," Daw- 
son snapped, reaching for a hand gun in 
the rack on the wall. 

He bad been wanting a chance to get 
in this battle. Now the fight had come 
to him. 

Dawson kicked open the door, fired 


138 


AMAZING STORIES 


quickly, aiming at the tunnel. A jet 
of flame answered him. It struck the 
nose of the ship. White metal flared in 
incandescent droplets. 

All over the huge hangar guns were 
firing at the tunnel entrance. The 
monkey-creatures would get a warm 
reception if they charged. 

But the Tolzans did not attack. After 
what happened next, they couldn't. 

Perhaps a carelessly aimed shot from 
one of the defenders caused it. Per- 
haps the Tolzans did it deliberately. 
No one knew for certain. But the huge 
door that blocked the tunnel fell sud- 
denly into place with a rending jar. 

"That stops 'em!" someone ex- 
claimed in a satisfied voice. 

"Yes, that stops them," Dawson an- 
swered grimly. He examined the door. 
The hideous truth was immediately ap- 
parent. 

"It stops us too," he growled. "That 
door must weigh several tons. It's 
wedged into place so tightly, we can't 
budge it an inch. Even if the Master 
turns power into our ships, we can't get 
out of here." 

"That settles it," Rutledge said 
hoarsely. "We're trapped!" 

CHAPTER VII 
Armageddon 

" W ATCH said Dawson tersel y- 

He raised his gun and fired. 
Something squealed in the darkness and 
turned flip-flops and died. Dawson 
lowered the gun. His eyes roved through 
the blackness. "It must have been a 
member of that same landing party that 
trapped us down below," he said. "I 
don't see any more of them. But there's 
more around, you can bet." 

The whole group had come up to the 
ground level. Even if the exit for the 
ships was blocked, there were ways 


they could crawl out. 

"What are we going to do?" Jack 
Rutledge questioned. 

"Watch and pray," his father an- 
swered. "And shoot when we get the 
chance." 

He fired quickly, looked to see the 
effect of his shot, then shook his head. 

"I aimed at a shadow that time." 
He glanced upward. "Anyhow, I don't 
think we can do anything to decide this 
battle. Everything depends on the Mas- 
ter. If he wins, we're saved. If he 
loses, our goose is cooked. And from 
the looks of what's going on up there — 
well, he's not winning." 

The Master's ship was still visible in 
the sky. It was surrounded by a pro- 
tective fleet of slim torpedoes — Kar- 
mak-manned ships that the Master had 
called to his aid. They gyrated in an 
endless dance, like fireflies on a summer 
night, circling the ship that held him. 
Surrounding them, at a greater distance, 
was a circle of Tolzan flyers. 

Like wolves leaping in at the kill, the 
Tolzan fighters were darting, flashing 
their coruscating beams at the torpe- 
does, and darting out. Occasionally 
they didn't get out again. Instead they 
took the long drop to earth. But more 
often it was a torpedo ship that hissed 
downward from the sky. 

Here, then, was Armageddon, the 
battle at the end of time. Two races 
fought to see which would inherit the 
earth. One, an old, old race, had savored 
all the ups and downs of history; the 
other, a new race, was rising like an 
evil star. There could be no quarter. 
Only one race would survive. 

"The Master's getting whipped," a 
voice whimpered. "He's losing. He's 
running away!" 

The circle of protective torpedoes 
was thinning. Undeniably the ship 
which held the Master was accelerating, 
slipping away toward the south. 


PLANET OF DOOMED MEN 


139 


The majority of the Tolzan flyers 
followed it, clinging like jackals to the 
scent of wounded prey. But others 
dropped back toward the city. 

"They're coming down for mopping- 
up operations," Dawson muttered. 
"They've got their big game on the 
run, so now they're detaching small 
units to clean us up. Here," he ended 
aloud, "is where we get into this fight!" 

QUICKLY he deployed his group 
into a building. 
Nine small Tolzan ships hurtled 
down toward the city. Automatically 
the Karmak gun crews went into action. 
The major battle overhead had been 
beyond their range, but these diving 
flyers were coming close enough for 
effective targets. 

The Karmak gun crews swept the 
sky with streamers of flame. Flame 
struck back at them from the diving 
ships. Here a building crumbled as 
flame touched it. Hollow explosions 
sounded, apparently coming from heavy 
bombs. Smoke and dust and debris 
flew skyward. 

"What a crying shame! " Mary Nolan 
said. "It's a sacrilege to bomb such a 
beautiful city!" 

"Well, it's certainly going up in 
smoke now," Dawson grated. "Ah! 
They got that one." He followed the 
trail of fire from a falling Tolzan ship. 

"Those robot Karmaks fight like real 
soldiers," Rutledge commented wist- 
fully. "You know, the Master must 
have a tremendous brain to control each 
of them individually. Why, there are 
thousands of them!" 

"What the hell good is a brain," 
someone asked bitterly, "when a coward 
rules it?" 

The ship of the Master was low on 
the horizon now. While they watched, 
it disappeared. 
"He's running like a whipped dog 


with its tail between its legs," another 
of the group said disgustedly. 

"Maybe he can't help it," Rutledge 
snapped back. "He's sick, near death. 
Perhaps the Tolzans are stronger than 
he thought. Anyway, who are we to 
judge a man like that?" 

Of the nine ships that had dived 
downward, two got through the fire of 
the Karmaks. They disgorged their 
crews. The night was suddenly hideous 
with the shrill cries of the monkey rpu- 
tants. 

"They've located us," Dawson whisp- 
ered. "It's all over now." 

He had no hope of winning. The 
Tolzans numbered literally thousands 
of fighters. When they had cleaned 
out the robots, downed the ship of the 
Master, then they would swarm over 
this magnificent city. The handful of 
human defenders would be as ants be- 
neath the trampling feet of an invading 
army. 

Destiny had smiled on the human 
race for almost a million years. Now 
she hid her face. The human race 
was played out, finished, done. Here 
the brave march across the countless 
millenia ended, here in a ruined city a 
corporal's guard of humans fought the 
last fight. 

Because of their heritage of battle, 
because they had learned to fight the 
hard way, they would go down to the 
last man and woman. And the last 
man would fling his weapon at the last 
attacker and die beneath the oncoming 
avalanche. 

Men, even that superman the Master, 
were not the rulers of time and destiny. 
Everything must come ultimately to an 
end. Every brook reached the sea at 
last, every fight its finish. Now was 
the end of man. 

A S HE entered that last fight, Daw- 
/ *- son felt a little betrayed. He knew 


140 


AMAZING STORIES 


the others felt the same way. The Mas- 
ter had brought them here. If he could 
not defend them, he should have let 
them die beside him. 

True, his motives had been of the 
best. He was fighting to forestall the 
doom of the human race. But the 
people he had brought here wanted to 
fight at his side. He should have re- 
leased the ships, permitted their oc- 
cupants to enter the battle, let them 
die as men always had — not grub here 
in the darkness like cornered rats, un- 
able to meet the enemy face to face. 

Flashes from the Tolzan guns were 
coming in through the windows now, 
stabbing hungrily for their victims. A 
man cried out and collapsed to the floor, 
making a goggling sound as he tried to 
breathe. Flame danced at Dawson 
and he ducked, to rise and fire quickly 
over the sill. The whole side of his face 
felt as though it had been seared in a 
hot fire. The beam had barely missed. 

Debris fell from the ceiling then, 
metal clanged, the very air grew hot and 
foul. In the darkness someone shouted 
shrilly. 

"The building is about to fall! We've 
got to get out I" 

True, the structure was fireproof. It 
.vouldn't burn. But it would fall. And 
the guns of the Tolzans were tearing 
gaping holes in it. 

"Into the open," Dawson ordered. 
"Courage, men!" 

Taking a quick glance, he saw what 
was outside — a ring of fire from Tolzan 
guns. That was what they would have 
to face. 

Grimly the men followed Dawson 
down the stairs, all that were left of 
them, and outside. They could have 
crouched on the stairs, where the Tolzan 
guns could not yet reach, but the build- 
ing would have crumbled in on them. 
Dawson led them out. They would die, 
at least, as men under a starry sky. 


With the shout of battle on his lips, 
Dawson kicked open the door and 
plunged out. Plunged out — into eerie 
darkness. The flame of the Tolzan 
weapons had died away. They weren't 
being fired. 

For their erstwhile wielders were 
squealing in jright — and bolting like 
scared rabbits! 

Wildly exultant the men of Earth 
mowed them down, nor even wondered 
for a moment why the Tolzan guns had 
suddenly lost their sting. It was pure 
slaughter, and the monkey-men died 
like pigs in an abattoir, screeching to 
the end. 

"Look up!" Rutledge shouted sud- 
denly. "There in the sky!" 

CEVERAL of the Tolzan flyers had 
returned to renew the battle over 
the bombed city. A few of the Kar- 
mak's torpedo ships were hovering over 
them. But the horde of Tolzan ships 
were now falling, out of control, drop- 
ping like plummets, screaming down- 
ward toward the earth. Not flaming. 
They hadn't been struck. Just falling. 

To the southward a great glow was in 
the sky. It was so vast as to resemble 
the sunrise. But the sun did not rise 
in the south. And this conflagration 
was mushrooming upward. 

Gigantic streamers of flame were 
pushing skyward, reaching the upper 
limits of the atmosphere, going over 
higher. Vesuvius, in its greatest erup- 
tion, was never so terrible. A hundred 
volcanoes, erupting in violent concord, 
could not have created such an explo- 
sion. 

Then the other sound came. It came 
in a blast of thunder. If all the cy- 
clones that ever roared across the earth 
were gathered together into one cata- 
clysmic outburst, the result could have 
been no more shocking. Violent sound 
waves tore at the air, frothed in it, buf- 


PLANET OF DOOMED MEN 


141 


feted it aside. Then the very ground 
shook mightily, and the surface of the 
earth undulated in gigantic rollers. 

"It's the Tolzan fortress I" Dawson 
gasped, choking. "The Master ex- 
ploded it!" 

"And their ships are falling 1" 

Dawson's voice was filled with awe, 
almost reverence. 

"The Master — he thought of every- 
thing. If we have survived, it is to him 
that we owe our continued existence." 

Dawson got a grip on himself. "Well 
— there is still a reason for everything. 
Those Tolzan ships must have used 
energy transmitted by radio. When 
their fortress was blown up, no more 
energy was forthcoming from their 
central transmitter there. So — they 
simply fell to earth. And their weapons 
— their guns must have utilized radio 
energy, too." 

"But I don't understand, sir," Jack 
Rutledge said. "Those Tolzan guns 
stopped firing before the Tolzan ships 
fell to earth." 

Dawson nodded slowly. "We can 
only surmise what must have happened 
— even as we will never know from 
whence the Master came. Let us say 
that there were two power stations in 
the fortress — one to supply weapons 
and armaments with power, the other 
to carry warships through the skies. 

"We must then assume that through 
mental projection, the Master must 
have contacted the brain of the Tolzan 
whose routine job it was to see the 
arms power supply continued to func- 
tion smoothly. A routine job — a 
routine brain. Thus overpowered, this 
Tolzan shut off the supply, and his 
comrades bent on destroying us outside 
the hangar were left weaponless." 

p\AWSON searched the night sky 
with narrowed eyes. Here and 
there Tolzan ships, remnants of the 


deadly unnumbered horde, were hurt- 
ling groundward to eternity. 

"This same Tolzan attendant, then," 
Dawson went on, "his mind figuratively 
bewitched by the overpowering projec- 
tion of the Master's thought-waves, 
must then have found his way into the 
fortress' central power magazine — and 
set off an explosion which destroyed the 
remaining radio-power supply station. 
And," he added grimly, "this whole 
monstrous civilization with it." 

The last Tolzan flyer had now crash- 
ed in a shower of flaming debris. But 
a few of the Karmak torpedo ships were 
still in the sky, floating aimlessly about, 
as if an unnatural power had relaxed 
the hands at the controls. 

"The Master— he's released his con- 
trol over the Karmaks!" Dawson 
whispered. But even as he spoke, the 
Master's great airship hove into view 
as the first rays of a rising sun — the 
sun, now — etched the horizon in a dawn 
of ethereal majesty. 

As though at a single command, the 
last of the torpedo ships suddenly 
swung into life. In precise formation, 
they lined up behind the Master's flag- 
ship and headed together for the last 
time toward the vastness of space. 

"He's finished," Rutledge husked. 
"And he's heading out to space to die!" 

"The sun also rises!" Dawson 
choked. "See how it gilds the last 
guardians of the human race. For them, 
a blaze of glory. And for us, the promise 
of a new life." 

Only once did the Master's flagship 
falter in its course. Then and only then, 
it seemed as if the nose of the ship 
dipped fleetingly in a final salute . . . 

Eyes wet with tears, Dawson turned 
to Mary Nolan, standing at his side 
with her arm about his. 

"A new world ! " he breathed huskily. 
"Not forever, but for our lifetime. For 
us, I think, that is quite enough." 



by FESTUS PR AGNELL 


Don Harsreaves didn't have anything to do 
with the epidemic, but he was outlawed. Then 
he found there was another Don Hargreavas! 


THE Imperial Palace, Mars. 
Dear Festus: 
"So you're getting bombs 
chucked at you, huh? I thought Earth 
was a dull place, and all the excitement 
was in Mars. Seems I was wrong. 

"Thanks for copy of Amazing Sto- 
ries with an account of that affair of 
Sommaly in it, which I see you have 
given the ridiculous title of 'Warlords 
of Mars.' I've had trouble enough, 
keeping the mag out of sight of Princess 
Wimpolo. I mean to say, I know I said 
that Wimps was not beautiful, judged 
by the standards of Earth, but I didn't 
mean she was such a fright as the pic- 
ture shows her. 


"Tell dear old Rap from me that if 
he hears of a number of strangely 
dressed men, all ten feet tall, walking 
through the streets of Chicago with 
queer boxes in their hands, he must get 
down the fire-escape pronto. Because 
they will be Wimpolo 's guards after 
him with rayguns. 

"Thank the readers for me for the 
interest they take in us. Tell them that 
Wimpo is a jolly girl and the bravest 
I've ever known, even if she is a trifle 
outsize. And, anyway, what other 
Earthling can boast nearly half a ton 
of wife, all in one piece? Because that 
is what I shall have, very soon. An- 
other thing, too, why satisfy yourself 


143 


j.44 


AMAZING STORIES 


with these dull news agency reports of 
events in Mars? Why not hand them 
on as I tell them to you? 

"You know what happened up to the 
time of my last letter. I came to Mars 
as a clerk in the employ of a mining 
company, but mutiny broke out among 
the miners. With Elsa Thorwaldsen, 
daughter of the manager, I ran away, 
and met one of the gigantic people of 
Mars, who live in caverns underground. 
The Martians gave me one of their 
deathray boxes, whose beams produce 
fields of force in which human nerves 
will not work. They also gave me a 
zekolo, a sort of Martian watchdog 
which looks like an octopus with the 
shell of an oyster and the pincers of a 
crab. Against death rays and zekolo 
the mutineers with their guns had no 
chance at all. Mutiny over, old man 
Thorwaldsen and his daughter turned 
nasty, and I went back to the Martians. 
Once in the deeper caverns of Mars 
there is no return, because of certain 
chemical changes that take place in 
one's blood. 

"I found that the few Earthlings 
here, being small and agile among the 
gigantic, slow, lumbering Martians, 
were great favorites at the court of 
King Usulor, overlord of Mars; and 
Wimpolo, his daughter, soon adopted 
me as her special favorite. But I think 
the privileges accorded to Earthlings 
must have caused a lot of jealousy, be- 
cause soon after that two nasty wars 
broke out, each one led by minor kings 
who wanted Usulor's position of over- 
lord of the planet, Kings Sommalu and 
Bommelsmeth. 

"Sommalu was easily dealt with, the 
chief trouble he caused being due to 
the recklessness of the Princess, who 
went spying in the enemy's country un- 
attended. What a wigging her father 
gave her! I shivered in my shoes for 
fear that I would cop it too for not 


telling him of what she intended to do. 

"Bommelsmeth did better. He had 
an army of ape-men, and actually suc- 
ceeded in kidnaping Wimpolo out of 
the middle of her father's palace. But 
Wimpolo escaped with the help of Vans 
Holors, a Martian who is now wrestling 
champion of the planet. Bommel- 
smeth's own ape-men were turned 
against him, and Bommelsmeth's secret 
undersea hideout was flooded and 
wrecked. 

"Immediately after that the princess 
made a public announcement. The sci- 
entists, she said, urged that to bring 
fresh virility to the Martian stock every 
Martian lady who could, should marry 
an Earthling. She, herself, set the ex- 
ample. And she had chosen for her 
husband me, Don Hargreaves. Ev- 
erybody knows how brave I was and 
what I have done for Mars. That made 
me next in succession to the throne of 
Usulor, overlord of all Mars. 

"So you see, Festus, even up to then 
I had not done so badly for excitement 
since I went spook -hunting with Elsa 
Thorwaldsen, in a Martian traffic tun- 
nel that her father's men had accidently 
broken into. I'll bet you, with nothing 
but a few bombs falling around your 
house and dog-fights taking place in the 
air over your head, are green with jeal- 
ousy. 

"T>UT we hadn't finished with Bom- 
melsmeth and that's what I 
wanted to tell you. When we flooded 
his undersea cavern we thought that 
was the end of him, but it is easy to 
see now that his submarines could still 
get out through the locks, and the big 
cavern probably communicated with 
others above sea-level. Even on Earth 
we have caverns that run under the 
sea, and in conditions of lesser gravity, 
rock formations amazing to us readily 
become possible. 


OUTLAW OF MARS 


145 


"The trouble started when Princess 
Wimpolo caught a cold. You could not 
see anything remarkable in that, but 
in Mars it was incredible. The first 
lady in all Mars, receiving a daily dose 
of twenty-six different vitamins, was 
supposed to be completely protected 
against all sickness and ailments what- 
ever, apart from the results of overeat- 
ing. (And can she eat! But never 
mind that.) 

"The sneezes of that half-ton lady, 
Festus, would nearly blow your house 
down. I was standing in front of her 
in one of her spasms, and it lifted me 
six feet in the air. That may seem a 
lot to you, but you must always remem- 
ber that the gravity of Mars is much 
less than that of Earth. She sent for 
her doctor and she stormed at him. He 
had been on the job only a month, the 
former doctor having failed to cure a 
headache of hers (A-tishool I care- 
fully kept beside her). And look at 
the results of his administrations! A- 
tishoo!" 

* * * 

VXTHILE she was talking I felt a 
tickling at the back of my own 
throat. I badly wanted to sneeze my- 
self. But I controlled it. The eye of 
the new doctor was on me, very cold. 
I felt sure that he didn't like me. 

The doctor was apologetic. All the 
resources of Martian science would be 
enlisted in service of the Princess, but 
he feared that a new germ was abroad 
in Mars. Other ladies besides the 
Princess were suffering from the same 
trouble, most of them ladies who had 
taken Earthlings into their households. 

He glared at me as he said this, mak- 
ing sure that I did not miss it. I knew 
what he meant. He was suggesting that 
we Earthlings had brought a new dis- 
ease to Mars. 

"Possibly the Earth scientists may 


be able to help us," he finished. Just 
then I sneezed myself. The Doctor 
leered triumphantly. Wimpolo looked 
at me thoughtfully. 

"Run along now, Don," she said. 
"I'm not well. I'll send for you when 
I'm better." 

I had been dismissed from the pres- 
ence of the Princess. But if I really 
was infecting her it was better for me 
to leave her, for a time. However, I 
had only gone a little while when I was 
called for on the palace television sys- 
tem. This time it was old man Usulor 
himself, the big shot of Mars, who 
wanted me. As I went along I was 
wobbling at the knees pretty lively. 
Abrupt and frosty old King Usulor sel- 
dom took much notice of Earthlings. 
He put up with us because the Court 
ladies were so fond of us. He had 
never said whether or not he approved 
of my betrothal to the Princess. If I 
hadn't made myself useful in the trou- 
bles with Sommalu and Bommelsmeth 
I think he would have forbidden it. 

As soon as I saw King Usulor I knew 
I was in for a stormy passage. Princess 
Wimpolo's new doctor was beside him, 
and old Usulor was glowering the way 
he does when he is all ready to ex- 
plode. 

"What's the meaning of this, Har- 
greaves?" he barked at me. 

I nearly said, "What are your doc- 
tors doing if they can't tell you?" but 
what I said was, 

"Does Your Majesty mean the 
Princess?" 

"Who else?" he snarled. "You are 
hardly ever out of her sight." 

Suddenly he sneezed. Then I knew 
why he was in such a bad temper. He 
had caught cold too. And I was being 
blamed for it. 

"It's not my fault," I said. 

"What?" he stormed. "The doctor 
here tells me it is your Earthly disease 


146 


AMAZING STORIES 


of— of— " 

"Influenza," supplied the doctor. 
"It's no influenza," I said. 
"What?" 

"It has come on too quickly to be in- 
fluenza. An hour ago I was all right. 
Now I feel ill," I said. 

A strange weakness had come on me 
suddenly so that I could hardly stand 
up. The Martian doctor stepped for- 
ward. 

"He is really ill. Your Majesty." 

"Take him," growled Usulor. "Put 
him in quarantine. Don't let him in- 
fect any more of my people." 

"And meanwhile," added the doctor, 
"find out exactly what he is suffering 
from and how to cure it." 

I knew I was falling into a trap. 

"I want to choose my own doctor," 
I tried to say, "and I want Professor 
Winterton." 

^JO notice was taken of me. A 
blanket soaked with antiseptics 
was thrown over me, and I was car- 
ried out on a stretcher. As I was jolted 
painfully down a long corridor, the doc- 
tor came behind us and I heard him 
chuckle, three or four times, as though 
at some rich joke. 

We came to a room that was fitted 
out as a laboratory. There was a bed 
here, a bed surrounded by a glass 
screen. I was placed in the bed, and 
the doctor came and grinned at me. 

"So," he said. "The little man was 
going to marry the first lady in Mars 
and be ruler of our planet, was he? 
Ha, ha I And then he woke up." 

He stopped and picked up a tiny 
glass dart that seemed to be stuck in 
my side. 

"Not bad, eh? The Paralyzing Drug 
gradually deprives the muscles of the 
power of movement. I shot it into you 
while you stood beside the Princess 
about an hour ago. Her sneezes 


drowned the slight noise. And so rap- 
idly did the drug paralyze the nerves 
around your wound that they had no 
time even to transmit the sensation of 
pain. You did not know you had been 
struck. And didn't I judge it beauti- 
fully? I calculated your body-weight, 
the lapse of time, everything. The drug 
took effect while you actually stood in 
front of the King. Beautiful!" 

I did not reply. The paralysis had 
taken hold of my tongue now. I could 
not speak. 

"And my assistants among the doc- 
tors," he went on, "have given many 
people drugs, that stimulate the mucous 
membranes of their noses into dis- 
charging violently to give them head- 
aches and to deprive their muscles of 
strength. Presently King Bommel- 
smeth will raise the cry, "Rid Mars of 
Earthlings and their Influenza! Peo- 
ple will rally to him. It will mean the 
end of your friends inside and outside 
of Mars." 

Directly he mentioned Bommel- 
smeth I understood. So the rebel king 
was still alive, and plotting. I remem- 
bered now that he had boasted of hav- 
ing his spies in influential positions at 
the Court of Usulor, his enemy. 

Soon the paralyzing drug had gripped 
all the motor nerves that carry im- 
pulses to the muscles, but the sensory 
nerves were still active, bringing me a 
sensation of sight and hearing. Invol- 
untary muscles still kept my heart and 
lungs going, slowly. There was no in- 
tention that I should die, or that I 
should be saved from seeing or hearing 
anything that would cause me distress. 
But I could not blink an eyelid. 

Four Martians were busy at some 
task I could not see, for my eyes were 
fixed on the distant ceiling. At eacl 
knock of the door they hastily covered 
their work. 

Princess Wimpolo came. I heard 


OUTLAW OF MARS 


14? 


her enter, supported by two ladies in 
waiting. That pig of a doctor jumped 
up to meet her. 

"Your Highness! This is not wise! 
You are ill." 

"They tell me," Wimpolo said weak- 
ly, "that Don Hargreaves, my Earth- 
ling, is dead." 

"Yes," she was told, "the science of 
Mars could not save him." 

She wept as they helped her away. 

Professor Winterton came, the 
Earthling who first persuaded me to 
live among the Martians, and Vans 
Holors, wrestling champion of Mars. 

"Hard luck, boy," said Winterton, 
patting my shoulder. 

"So you took the count, Don," said 
Vans. "But the end isn't yet. The 
championship isn't won yet." 

They went out. I was alone with 
my enemies. I turned the words of 
Vans and the professor over and over 
in my mind. Dared I hope that they 
suspected the truth? 

A messenger came. 

"The King has ordered that a State 
Funeral and Cremation take place in 
two hours." 

"But this is an unseemly rush," pro- 
tested the sham doctor. 

"The King has resolved on drastic 
measures to prevent the spread of in- 
fection," answered the messenger. 

CHAPTER II 
Troubles of a Corpse 

A/TORE than once I have been con- 
gratulated on my ingenuity in 
finding my way out of awkward fixes. 
But this time I had no chance of using 
any ingenuity at all. I was stuck right 
where I was. Until the effects of the 
drug wore off or were neutralized, there 
I would remain. 
The only part of me fully active was 


my brain. If there was anything in 
telepathy, now was the time to use it. 
I tried. I tried hard. I concentrated 
first on Wimpolo, then on the Profes- 
sor, and then on Vans Holors. But 
whether there is no such thing as telepa- 
thy, or whether I didn't know how to 
transmit or they how to receive, I 
achieved no result that I know of ex- 
cept to give myself a headache. 

The five Martian workmen kept 
busy. A large machine lurched from 
the wall. It had two arms and branch- 
ing feathery fingers. The fingers of 
one arm felt all over my face, head and 
neck. 

"Making a statue of you, Har- 
greaves," I was told. 

I understood. The robotlike affair 
was a Martian copying machine.* 

I wanted to know what the object of 
making the statue was, but of course 
I could not ask. 

"Usulor has not given us much time," 
one Martian grumbled. 

"No, but we can do it." 

Presently they were satisfied with 
their work. 

"A perfect likeness." 

"Can't tell them apart." 

"Say, wouldn't it be easy to send the 
wrong one to be cooked? Roast the 
statue and keep the real Earthling as a 
statue." 

"Yes, that is exactly what we are 
going to do," said the Martian in 
charge, briskly. "Now, quickly ! Time 
is short. Lift the Earthling out and put 
him on one side. Put the statue in the 
bed. Now, into this box with the Earth- 
ling. Cover him up. Ah! Just in 
time." 

A blanket was thrown over me just as 

* While one "hand" explored the shape of the 
head the other was producing a duplicate of it 
in plastic material which would afterwards be 
colored with an equally exact imitation of Jie 
original. These Martian statues were often un- 
cannily realistic. — Ed. 


143 


AMAZING STORIES 


the door began to open. I heard the 
voices of Vans and of the Professor and 
of others. They had come to take me to 
my funeral. 

The dummy was taken away. Then 
the six Martians came back. Still in 
darkness I was lifted, carried. I felt 
the smooth motion of a Martian rolling 
traffic sphere under me. I seemed to 
travel for many miles. 

* * * 

TyJOW, this is what happened at my 
"funeral." Princess Wimpolo was 
sitting, sadly watching the proceedings, 
when one of her ladies-in-waiting came 
to her and whispered. 

"One of the Earthlings wishes to 
speak to you, your Highness." 

Wimpolo stirred. 

"After the funeral," she said. 

"He says it is very urgent." 

"Who is it?" 

"The one they call Winterton." 

"Don's friend," murmured the Prin- 
cess. "Let him come." 

The tiny form of the white-haired 
professor stood beside the giant prin- 
cess. 

"What is it?" 

"It's about Don." 

"In my opinion, Princess Wimpolo," 
said the Professor, "Don did not die. 
He was murdered." 

Wimpolo sat still, thinking. 

"What reason have you for saying 
this?" she asked, presently. 

"Two reasons, Princess. In the first 
place Don's death was too sudden. 
Earthlings do not die of sickness as 
quickly as that. In the second place 
Don does not look ill. See those red 
lips and cheeks and the firm, rounded 
arms and legs? Even through the glass 
sides of the coffin you can see. That 
is the body of a man who died sud- 
denly, while he was in perfect health. 
Martians may be deceived, but not an 
Earthling. 


"You delayed in telling me this," said 
she. "Ten minutes more and he would 
have been cremated and his ashes 
thrown into the sea beneath us." 

She beckoned a lady-in-waiting. 

"Tell my father to stop the funeral." 

The Martian woman looked amazed. 

"Quick!" Wimpolo ordered. "Tell 
my father to stop the funeral." 

The lady-in-waiting hurried away. 

King Usulor started in his seat when 
the Martian woman approached him. 
He frowned impatiently across at his 
daughter, then gave the order to halt 
the ceremony. Slowly he came to where 
his daughter waited on her couch, while 
thousands of Martians wondered what 
had happened. 

"What new foolishness is this, girl? 
he demanded. "Haven't you caused me 
enough trouble with your wildness? 
Your Earthling, through no fault of his 
own, I suppose, has made you ill and 
me unwell. Let us get rid of the infec- 
tion." 

"Father, Don was murdered ! " 

"What?" Usulor thundered. "Have 
I not rid myself of all my enemies yet? 
Are they still around me?" 

Turning to two guards he com- 
manded, "Bring the coffin here!" 

nPHE royal party was upon a sort of 
natural platform of rock, where all 
the assembled people could see them. 
On one side of the platform was a sheer 
drop to the sea. Down this precipice 
my ashes were to be shot into the water, 
after I had been cremated. 

The glass coffin was brought and 
placed in front of King Usulor. What 
was supposed to be my body was clearly 
seen inside, such a perfect representa- 
tion that even Winterton was deceived. 

"Open the—" began Usulor, but got 
no further. His mouth fell open in 
amazement. A horrified startled cry 
came from all the people who were near 


OUTLAW OF MARS 


enough to see. Wimpolo and Winter- 
ton cried out in incredulous delight. 

For the body in the coffin was mov- 
ing. Its head turned. It looked first 
at Usulor, then at his daughter, then at 
the crowd. It lifted an arm and rapped 
three times on the side of its glass cof- 
fin. 

It was, of course, an automaton, or 
robot, operated by distant control by 
means of television. 

Guards and servants sprang to re- 
lease me from my premature coffin. 
But the robot shaped in my likeness, or 
its distant operator, was too impatient 
to wait for them. The arm swung again 
strongly. The glass cover of the coffin 
splintered to fragments. The robot 
climbed stiffly out. As a dead man 
coming to life, its mechanical move- 
ments were grimly realistic. 

The robot's head turned, and it 
looked about it woodenly. Its face was 
not shaped to express any feelings. 

"I thank your Majesty," it said, sud- 
denly and harshly, "for these prepara- 
tions for me. But as you see I am not 
dead." 

Wimpolo, first of all those present to 
recover her wits, moaned. 

"That's not his proper voice. And 
that queer look on his face! He must 
be very ill. Attendants! Look to him." 

A dozen Martians, men and women, 
jumped to obey. But the robot's atti- 
tude changed. A queer pistol was sud- 
denly in its hand. It was one of Bom- 
melsmeth's dissolving rays, the most 
dangerous weapon known to Mars. 

"Stand back," came the harsh voice. 

Wimpolo leaned back in her couch. 

"It isn't Don!" she whispered to 
those about her. "See how my pet 
snake is hissing at him! That snake 
would never hiss at Don. It knows him 
too well." 

"Listen to me," snarled the robot's 
radio voice. "I did not die of sickness. 


I only went into a coma, from which I 
have now recovered. But all the Mar- 
tians who take the sickness will die. It 
is too late to stop it. All you Mar- 
tians, heed my words! Earth will de- 
stroy you all. We Earthlings need your 
planet, and we shall take it. If the 
sickness does not destroy you, our 
weapons will. As now I destroy your 
Princess ! " 

And the deadly ray came up to aim 
straight at Wimpolo's bosom. 

ILrAD I been there I am sure I could 
have reached the metal monster in 
time to knock his arm up. The Prin- 
cess' snake or her zekolo could have 
done it too, but they waited for the 
word of command before going into ac- 
tion. In all Mars there was probably 
only one native quick enough in thought 
and movement to save the Princess. 
That man was Vans Holors. Holors 
made a wild plunge. Even for him it 
looked impossible to cross the space 
without being shot down, but it took a 
small fraction of time for the distant 
operator to see what was happening and 
to move the controls accordingly. 

Taking the only certain way, Vans 
made a flying leap at the animated 
dummy. His enormous weight caught 
the robot squarely. It was impossible 
for Vans to stop his rush in time to save 
himself. Vans and the little robot van- 
ished over the edge of the precipice 
together, to plunge into and sink be- 
neath the waves. 

The crowd thought that Vans had 
given his life, that the deadly ray had 
caught him full in the chest; but as a 
matter of fact the discharge expended 
itself harmlessly on the rocks. 

Bommelsmeth's devilish scheme had 
been, of course, that the robot should 
murder Princess Wimpolo and then dive 
into the sea and get away. I would, of 
course, get the blame for the crime, and 


AMAZING STORIES 


a nasty popular demand to rid Mars of 
all Earthlings would arise. 

By the courage and promptitude of 
Holors, Wimpolo was saved. But the 
damage had been done, all the same. 
Plenty of it! The robot's words, 
threatening all Mars, had been heard 
by thousands of Martians. They had 
also seen the dummy's attempted as- 
sassination of Wimpolo. Everywhere 
where Earthlings were in Mars, they 
felt a change in the atmosphere. Their 
gigantic hosts were turning against 
them. 

Meanwhile Usulor, purple with rage, 
was spouting orders as fast as he could 
get the necessary breath out of his 
lungs. 

"Cancel the funeral! Arrest Don 
Hargreaves! Arrest the Princess' doc- 
tor for telling us that Hargreaves was 
dead! What are you waiting for? 
Hargreaves is in the sea? Well, dive in 
after him! Hunt him with snakes and 
zekolos. Find him, find him, I say! 
And arrest every Earthling in Mars. 
See that they do no more mischief." 

He stopped to sneeze. The Earth- 
lings were the cause of that too, he re- 
flected. 

"And to think," he said to himself. 
"If I had only fixed things for a few 
minutes earlier I'd have had him safely 
cremated before he came round." 

CHAPTER III 

Bommelsmeth Again 

T KNEW nothing about the tumult 
caused by the funeral of my dummy. 
I supposed that the dummy had been 
duly cremated, and that the court and 
the Earth colony of Mars mourned me 
as dead. That I was being hunted as 
an assassin, while the Earthlings on 
Mars, thrown into prison, blamed me 
as the cause of their troubles, I had 


no idea. 

I felt the traffic tunnel that I was in 
going up and up. Suddenly I was taken 
out of my box and could look around 
once more. We were on the surface of 
Mars, in the full glare of the sunlight, 
which harmful to the Earthly eyes, was 
tinted grey to tone down the harsh light 
which, harmful to the Earthy eyes, was 
even more dangerous to the Martians. 

We rolled across a wide, saucer- 
shaped plain that had once been an 
ocean-bed. Many miles on we came to 
a mountain range, and here the sphere 
plunged into a hole that proved to be 
the entrance to a system of minor cav- 
erns. Even out here the Martians could 
not get out of their habit of boring 
themselves tunnels and caves to live in. 

We went in through air-locks. We 
passed armed sentries, heard shouted 
words of command. These were ob- 
viously the secret headquarters of an 
army. It was cunning. Of all places 
where Usulor, with his television, might 
search for a hideout of his enemy, the 
one place where he would not look was 
on the surface of the planet. For it 
was supposed that no Martian could 
live long on the surface owing to chem- 
ical changes that take place in their 
blood there. 

Presently a Martian picked me up 
with one hand and carried me out of 
the sphere. I found myself before a 
lean, sardonic Martian with red, in- 
flamed eyes. It was Bommelsmeth. 
The resplendent uniforms and the lux- 
ury with which he had formerly sur- 
rounded himself were gone. Now he 
had ordinary clothes and a single badge. 
The furniture was plain. He was thin- 
ner now. Before he had been overbear- 
ingly confident. Now he was desper- 
ately ferocious. 

I was carried in, stiff as a poker, and 
dropped in front of him. 

"What's this?" he growled. 


OUTLAW OF MARS 


151 


"Don Hargreaves, Earthling, in a 
cataleptic state, but conscious, as you 
directed, chief." 

The elaborate court etiquette that 
Bommelsmeth had once insisted on was 
gone. His men called him shortly, 
"Chief." 

A slow smile of triumph came over 
the face of the former King. 

"Ah yes, I remember. I have a me- 
mento from him." He pulled up his 
left trouser-leg. "See that?" It was a 
long scar. "You did that, with your 
sword, when we fought in the cabin of 
my submarine. Then, I was a great 
King. Now, I am a fugitive, with but 
a handful of followers. You did that 
too. I wanted to see you to thank you 
for all these favors." 

He stirred me with his foot. 

"Is he alive?" ■ 

"The drug produces the appearance 
of death very convincingly chief. He 
hears what you say and understands it." 

"Then bring him round," directed 
Bommelsmeth, "but first chain him to 
a ring in the wall by his neck. I know 
him. He moves very fast. Once you 
let go of him you'll never get hold of 
him again." 

"Bring him round and he will die, 
chief. The Krypton in the atmos- 
phere." 

"Ah, yes, I forgot. Not that it mat- 
ters much. Give him the treatment I 
discovered to dissolve the krypton out 
of his blood safely." 

A cloth soaked with some sweet 
smelling liquid was held to my nose. I 
felt strangely light-headed. Then the 
cloth was taken away. Somebody 
grunted to somebody else. The end of 
a tube was forced down my throat, and 
something warm squirted directly into 
my stomach. 

CLOWLY, very slowly, my frozen 
body began to thaw out. I was 


racked with pain, cramp, stiffness. My 
eyes were very sore, but I would not 
let Bommelsmeth see that I was hurt. 

"You took a lot of trouble to rid 
yourself of one small Earthling, Bom- 
melsmeth," I said. 

"True," he said, considering the point 
carefully. "Possibly true. But still the 
process, or, should I say, the experi- 
ment? has been worth the trouble. I 
have got you here, and everybody 
thinks you dead. Next, I shall do the 
same with Wimpolo, then with Usulor, 
and then with all the officials and army 
generals of Usulor who are opposed to 
me." 

He took a drink. I must have let 
him see that I was thirsty by the way 
my eyes followed his glass, for he called 
for another, and ordered that all his 
men present should drink. But none 
was offered to me. 

"Now," he said in pretended affa- 
bility," let's get together. Let's under- 
stand each other. There are several 
points on which Usulor and I do not 
agree. The chief one is Earthlings. 
My slogan is, "Kill all Earthlings! 
That right, my men?" 

The Martians roared their approval. 

"Right ! Kill all Earthlings 1 " 

"You hear Hargreaves? But I've got 
a special treat first. Men! Wheel in 
the transformation box!" 

My heart jumped painfully when I 
saw what was being wheeled in. It was 
Bommelsmeth's big invention, his evo- 
lution controlling ray.* 


* Bommelsmeth, with fiendish genius, had dis- 
covered the natural radiation that, beating ever 
on Earth and Mars out of space, produces evolu- 
tion. The men of Mais, living in their deep caverns, 
had been shielded from this radiation for long ages, 
and their evolution had stopped. 

Bommelsmeth could produce evolution at will, 
or reverse it. The ray turned living men into apes, 
the apes into monkeys, the monkeys into reptiles, 
the reptiles into fish, the fish into marine worms 
and the worms finally into a primitive proto- 
plasmic slime that could not be seen.— Ed. 


AMAZING STORIES 


"Cheer up Hargreaves!" gloated 
Bornmelsmeth. "You are going to take 
part in a great scientific experiment! " 

* * * 

■y^/TIEN Vans Holors, realizing more 
quickly than anybody else the 
danger to Princess Wimpolo, threw his 
own life instantly into the balance to 
save her, he had not realized that he 
was attacking a metal dummy. He un- 
derstood that it was not me, but thought 
it was another Earthling who was my 
double. If it had been Vans would cer- 
tainly have been cut down. 

Now the dummy was about the same 
weight as myself, and Vans I would 
say at a guess to be about thirteen feet 
tall and well over a ton in weight. He 
swung his left arm to knock up the ray- 
pistol that menaced him and his right 
to the side of the dummy's head. The 
dummy's arm was stiff, not being on a 
universal joint like a human ball and 
socket shoulder-joint, which can move 
in any direction. Instead of knocking 
the dummy's arm up Vans knocked the 
dummy itself high up in the air, spin- 
ning like a fly wheel. The melting-ray 
was still in action, while the distant 
operator of the dummy vainly tried to 
guess from the amazing blur that 
reached him from the dummy's radio 
television eyes what in Mars had hap- 
pened. 

Fortunately, the ray whirled around 
too rapidly to do any damage. Vans' 
right arm, meeting no obstruction, 
threw him off his balance, and Vans, 
unable to stop himself, rushed headlong 
over the precipice into the water. 

To the stoutest and strongest man in 
Mars that was nothing. Vans took no 
more notice of falling in the sea than a 
healthy Earthling does of being caught 
in a light shower or rain. Provided, 
that is, that he hit no rocks. 

This was Funeral Rock. From it 
the ashes of thousands upon thousands 


of Martian Kings, Queens, Princess 
and Princesses had been shot into the 
water after cremation. The spot had 
been chosen because of its clean drop 
into very deep water. 

Vans came up, annoyed. The dum- 
my's head was stuck up, nose under but 
eyes staring across the mirror-smooth 
surface. A leg-stroke brought Vans 
alongside. 

"Make me get wet, would you?" he 
growled, giving the dummy a box on 
the ears. 

The blow would have stunned any 
Martian or broken any Earthling's 
neck. Vans took a leisurely leg-stroke 
to where he judged that the body would 
come up again. 

The dummy popped up, settled 
down, rose again and bobbed about 
until it was still. Its eyes were still 
open. It still looked alive, although 
one side of its head was dented like an 
empty can. Vans stared. No blood 
came from the wound, no flesh showed, 
only metal. 

Vans shuddered. He brought his 
fist straight down on the top of the head 
of this horrible thing that could not be 
killed. 

This time the dummy did not disap- 
pear. Its foot had become entangled 
in Vans' clothing. 

Just then the distant operator, real- 
izing that his dummy was getting dam- 
aged, threw a switch. A small motor 
began to hum, a small popeller began 
to buzz in the rear end of the dummy, 
and the dummy, towing Vans behind it, 
set out to sea at some sixty knots. 

Thousands of Martians, watching, 
confidently, this struggle between their 
wrestling champion and the Earthling 
who had tried to assassinate their 
Princess, gasped amazedly as the 
Earthling began all at once to swim out 
to sea, going faster than any living crea- 
ture had ever swam before and drag- 


OUTLAW OF MARS 


153 


ging their helpless champ with him. 

My reputation as an agile, swift and 
dangerous person increased a whole 
heap. 

TJUT Vans knew now that it was not 
a man but a machine that held him. 
The dummy was not using its limbs to 
swim with, but a hidden propeller. Vans 
felt the urge of the water. He under- 
stood why he had been unable to kill 
the creature. 

Vans, however, had come close to 
killing the dummy. His blow on the 
top of the thing's head had put one tele- 
vision eye out of action and damaged 
the other. The operator was now get- 
ting only a partial and obstructed view 
in his television panel. He did not 
know that Vans was there still, being 
towed along. The machine's reduced 
speed he put down to the damage to the 
motor inside it. 

Buffeted by the surge of water, Vans 
struggled to get a better grip on the 
machine and find some way of stopping 
it. The speed and the waves beat him. 
It was luck for Vans that he, like all 
Martians, was a powerful swimmer. 

The machine took a sudden dive. 
Vans was dragged down, a light from 
the dummy's head showing the way 
dimly. Into a hole in the rock wall it 
dived. Vans saw he was in an under- 
water cavern. 

The cavern opened out. He came up 
and was able to breathe. There was a 
sloping beach on his right about a quar- 
ter of a mile long. On it was a group 
of small houses. High up the beach 
about a hundred or so people sat with 
their backs to the high cliff. They 
were curiously still. There were men 
and women, both Earthlings and Mar- 
tians. 

Now or never, thought Vans, I must 
break loose from this thing. He now 
knew how the head of the robot was at- 


tached to its body and tried to wrench 
it off. 

The robot's body filled with water. 
With a gurgling of bubbles it sank. 
Vans disengaged himself, and swam 
cautiously for the shore. 

More lights were being switched on 
on the beach. Vans could see now, with 
a queer jump of his heart, that the peo- 
ple who sat and leaned against the cliff 
had no faces; only blank spheres of 
metal. They were more robots like the 
one that had dragged him to their home. 
Not yet had they been given the sem- 
blances of human faces. 

Two Martians came out of the near- 
est hut and walked to the edge of the 
unrippled water. Vans hid carefully 
behind a rock. 

"Not a trace," said one. 

"It sank, I reckon," said the other. 

"I don't wonder. Did you see the 
smashes that wrestler fellow gave? 
Amazing that it got as far as this." 

"Now see here, Torkwiss, never tell 
anybody about that." 

"Why not?" 

"Can't you see how mad the chief 
would be if he knew? Such a colossal 
mess of our first experiment with a ro- 
bot. Nearly lost the dummy." 

"If it had been cooked and thrown 
in the sea we'd have lost it then, all 
right." 

That wouldn't have mattered. The 
robot would have gone and none of 
Usulor's people would have known 
there was a robot. But if that wrestler 
fellow had busted the machine and it 
had been captured, then the chief's 
plans would have been given away. 
Bad enough to have them coming to 
open the coffin and having to make the 
thing bust loose. Nearly killed the 
Princess dame first. Bad luck we 
didn't get her, but to have given away 
the secret of the robots would have 
made the chief foaming mad. He 


154 


AMAZING STORIES 


might have ordered that we be kept 
here forever. You know that it is im- 
possible to . escape from here except 
by the help of a robot. No Martian 
could hold his breath long enough to 
get through the long tunnel that runs 
under the sea." 

"What are we going to do then?" 

"I am going to get another robot to 
fish out the Hargreaves dummy. Then 
we must patch it up quick. And say 
it was never injured. Get me?" 

"I get you." 

CHAPTER IV 

Transformation 

AS VAN HOLORS watched in the 
secret cavern, the two Martians 
went back to their hut. Presently came 
a low whine of machinery and two 
dummies with blank metal spheres for 
heads rose jerkily from their places 
and walked into the water. Presently 
they were in deep water, then they 
turned themselves over on their faces, 
their headlamps shining down while 
they searched the bed of the lagoon. 
That was unsuccessful. The dummies 
turned upsidedown, like ducks search- 
ing for food in a pond. Their legs, from 
the knees upward, stuck straight up 
out of the water. In slow, widening 
circles the legs roamed about the wa- 
ter. 

Vans judged that it was time to at- 
tack. Keeping carefully in darkness, 
he walked toward the side of the huts. 
He tripped against an unseen wire. At 
once a brilliant light shone forth, and 
the two dummies rose to their feet and 
lurched toward him. 

Vans ran for it. He gained the hid- 
ing of a rocky crevice without having 
the searchlight shine on him, but at the 
cost of making some noise. 

Three more Martians came out of the 


huts, walking toward where the two 
dummies were slowly revolving their 
blank heads and lights at the unseen 
wire. 

"Nothing to be seen," said one. 
"A snake, I reckon," said another. 
"A snake would glide under the 
wire." 

"Huh! What would you say it was, 
wise guy?" 

"The lost dummy." 
"You're crazy." 

"I'm not. That dummy's motor was 
still running when the television con- 
trol went wrong. It may be still walk- 
ing about. The other two dummies 
can't find it." 

"What'll happen to it?" 

"It'll just keep walking until it 
smashes itself up. Remember that 
dummy that got out of control last 
week?" 

"Or until it gets stuck in the mud," 
said another, looking at the trail of 
mud and weeds left by one of the dum- 
mies that had taken part in the unsuc- 
cessful search. 

Another Martian came out of that 
hut. 

"What are you three doing there? 
Haven't you anything better to do? 
That dummy's got to be found. Back 
to your controls. Get every dummy 
that's in working order on the search." 

"Luce says the dummy is still walk- 
ing around, boss." 

"Rot, that wrestler fellow bashed it 
two heavy clouts on the head. I hope 
he broke his fingers. The dummy was 
just able to limp back before it broke 
down. A wonder that it got as far as 
it did." 

They went back to their huts. One 
by one the dummies jerked to their 
feet and strode down to the water. Vans 
slipped into the water, too. He had an 
idea. 

* * * 


OUTLAW OF MARS 


155 


pjERE, I regret to say I have to re- 
.port an unpleasant piece of scan- 
dal. A Martian lady sat upon the lap 
of a Martian gentleman. No harm in 
that, but this particular lady was Olla, 
wife of Vans Holors. 

"So the court decided that the big 
boob is dead, and you get his money?" 
the man said, with a grin. 

"Yes, about time, too. The big 
grizzly bear. I still have the bruises 
from the great hug he gave me when 
he won the championship." 

"He did save the Princess," re- 
marked the man, feeling that there was 
something to be said in the dead 
champ's favor, after all. 

"Yes, left me a widow just to save 
that cat! Shows how little he thought 
of me!" 

"Never mind, duckie," he said, pat- 
ting her. "Won't we have a good time 
on his money!" 

"You bet we will!" she squealed with 
delight. 

I fear that honest, simple Vans has 
one weakness. He can't handle wom- 
en. 

* * * 

"NTOW," explained Bommelsmeth, 
like a lecturer. "You know that 
my evolution reversing ray acts not 
only on the chromosomes of the germ- 
like cells, which carry inheritance, but 
are so intense that all the cells of the 
body are affected. All those cells, hair 
cells, skin cells, muscle cells, forget 
their highly evolved complicated proc- 
esses, relapsing into simpler forms. As 
an athlete grows old and loses his speed 
and strength. But now I have speeded 
up my processes enormously. Proc- 
esses that take nature millions of years 
to carry out I could accomplish in a 
few weeks. Now I take only a few 
minutes. 

"And I can speed up evolution, as 
well as reverse it. So far, however, I 


have had no useful results, only queer 
freaks. I think it's because I have 
used the ray on Martians only, up to 
now. I haven't tried it on an Earthling 
yet. Our natural evolution has stopped, 
and it can't be started again suddenly. 
Try to start it too abruptly and it loses 
direction. I'll show you. Bring in the 
prisoners." 

The Martians were dragged in, their 
arms tied behind them. I saw that 
they were soldiers of Usulor's army. 
They glowered at Bommelsmeth. They 
were tied to the wall, and the evolution 
speeding-ray aimed fully at them. 

At the sight of the hideous machine 
they cried out and tried to break loose. 
Bommelsmeth laughed, and switched 
on his ray. 

Minutes passed, and only heavy 
breathing was to be heard as the four 
Martians tried to break their bonds. 
Soon their struggle stopped. Instead 
of rage and despair a blank amazement 
spread over their faces. 

Slowly, yet not so slowly that they 
could not be watched, the most incred- 
ible changes were taking place. Hair 
was sprouting on smooth skin. Hair 
was changing to fur, into feathers, into 
scales, heads were changing in size and 
shape. Arms, legs, and bodies were 
getting longer or shorter. 

Evolution, kicked violently into ac- 
tion after its sleep of ages, was run- 
ning wild. It was producing incompre- 
hensible, horrible changes in those four 
men. 

The beam was a circle of pale yellow 
around them. The actual ray, I knew, 
was invisible, the yellow light being 
added for safety. Without it, Bom- 
melsmeth's men or even Bommelsmeth 
himself might accidently walk into the 
beam. 

The clothing of the four Martians 
and their bonds crumbled into dust as 
the ray worked its will on cloth, leather, 


156 


AMAZING STORIES 


fur and rubber. But no longer were 
there four men. Four strange crea- 
tures, one a great bird, one a sort of 
crocodile, one a sort of octopus, and 
one something like a kangaroo, stared 
at me. 

Bommelsmeth flicked off the switch. 

"You see," he said. "Four more 
failures. All right men, clear up the 
mess." 

A sweeping deathray ended the hor- 
ror, stretching the four monstrosities 
motionless. They were dragged away. 

"Now," said Bommelsmeth, "we'll 
give the Earthling a dose." I was lifted 
and placed where the unfortunate Mar- 
tians 1 had stood, tied to the wall. Bom- 
melsmeth flicked his switch. The pale 
yellow beam impinged around me. 

CHAPTER V 
Vans in Action 

XTING USULOR, overlord of all 
Mars, puffed great clouds of Mar- 
tian tobacco. He was satisfied with 
himself. He had lopped off the head 
of the Princess' doctor. It amused him 
that all the other doctors whose clients 
had got the Earth sickness had bolted 
at once to a distant country. Good rid- 
dance! As a proof of the wisdom of 
Usulor all the colds had got better at 
once, his own, the Princess', and every- 
body else's. No more giant sneezes 
boomed through the palace, blowing 
down pictures and breaking crockery. 

The only fly in the ointment, from 
TJsulor's point of view, was the fact 
that Don Hargreaves had got away. 
The most thorough search with trained 
Zekolos failed to discover any trace of 
the treacherous Earthling's body. He 
had offered rewards for the finding of 
Don. 

Usulor frowned as the door of his 
private room opened and somebody 


came in unannounced. But his frown 
faded when he saw that it was Wim- 
polo, his daughter. 

"Must you barge in on me like this," 
he protested. "Couldn't you call me 
on the television?" 

"And you have switched the televi- 
sion off," she snapped. 

"Well, I didn't want to be disturbed." 

Wimpolo coughed. 

"Dad," she said, sharply, "I wish 
you wouldn't smoke this vile tobacco!" 

"Why not, Wimpolo? I like it. I 
gave an Earthling a mouthful of it 
once. Ha, ha! The tiny creature was 
unconscious for two hours." 

"You're cruel," she snapped. 

He stared at her. 

"You know," he said, thoughtfully, 
"sometimes I think a good spanking 
would do you good." 

"What?" 

"You heard, I've spoiled you. I've 
let you do as you like. I let you bring 
these Earthlings right into Mars and 
into my court. I knew all along it was 
a risk. But you and the other ladies 
took a fancy to these tiny men and 
women who can jump nearly twice as 
high as our heads. You even an- 
nounced that you were going to marry 
one of them, and the scientists backed 
you up. I said nothing, but I see now 
that I was foolish. The right sort of 
hsuband for you would be Vans Holors, 
the wrestling champion. He'd keep 
you in order. And he'd make a good 
king, too." 

Wimpolo gave a most unladylike 
snort. 

"The big boob! All brawn and no 
brains! Have you seen the way that 
cat, 011a, twists him round her litttle 
finger?" 

"Yes, yes, that's right. All the same, 
Wimpolo, the big brainless boob saved 
your life when your darling Don tried 
to burn a hole through you." 


OUTLAW OF MARS 


157 


"That wasn't Don," she barked, an- 
grily. 

"What!" shouted Usulor. "Am I 
mad? Is all my court mad? Are all 
my guards mad? Are thousands upon 
thousands of the Martian public mad? 
All those who were watching in their 
television sets, too? We all saw him. 
Who do you say it was? Some other 
Earthling, disguised? If so, it was the 
best disguise ever heard of. And in 
any case every other Earthling in Mars 
is ruled out. I checked on them, just 
to make sure. Every Earthling who 
was not actually present at the time has 
an unbreakable alibi." 

"Some of the ladies who have charge 
of Earthlings would say anything to 
save their pets," Wimpolo said. 

HPHE darling girl would have done 
anything to get the notice making 
me an outlaw withdrawn. And, as she 
said, some of the Martian ladies were 
very fond of their pet Earthlings, just 
as Earth ladies are fond of their pet 
pekes. 

Usulor snorted. 

"Do you think I accepted the word 
of the ladies? They speak as their 
feelings guide them. No. I asked the 
husbands of those ladies. Wimpolo, 
little one, you've got to face it, no mat- 
ter how much it hurts. It was your 
Don who tried to murder you. I say he 
isn't safe. When I think you are in 
danger remember that I am still your 
father and still the ruler of Mars. I've 
got all the other Earthlings under lock 
and key, and as soon as Don is found, 
or his body, I shall start the trial. Of 
all of them. They will be charged with 
being a danger to Mars." 

"With the verdict already decided 
against them," she stormed, "and a sen- 
tence of death awaiting them all." 

"It is scientifically impossible to re- 
turn them to Earth," he said. "Execu- 


tion is therefore the only way." 

"You are a brute and a bully," she 
screamed, and rushed out. 

He stared after her. 

"I might to spank her," he muttered. 
"Can't think why I don't." 

TN THE undersea cavern Vans Holors 
slipped into the water without a 
sound. Dozens of robots, or remote 
control dummies, were swimming about 
slowly. Their feet stuck up out of wa- 
ter, and the searchlights on their heads 
lit up the muddy, weedy bed of the 
lagoon most oddly. Once or twice a 
dummy hooted excitedly, but each time 
it proved to be only a fish, crustacean or 
snake on the ocean bed that had been 
taken for a metal man partly concealed 
by mud and weeds. 

Vans was in no danger of being seen 
from the shore. But he was in danger 
of being seen by one of those pairs of 
television eyes. He paddled cautiously 
about. 

Presently one of the dummies wan- 
dered away from the rest, searching in 
shallow water. Vans crept up to it. 
Seizing its heels he forced it down 
sharply. The head was buried in mud. 

"Another dummy out of order," 
thought Vans. 

He dived. Other dummies were com- 
ing up. In a few seconds he had pulled 
the body of the dummy away from the 
buried head. The body filled with wa- 
ter and sank. Vans pulled out the head 
and swam away with it to a hidden al- 
cove. 

Vans had got himself somewhat 
muddy, but that only helped his plans. 
He tore the machinery out of the metal 
head. It left a metal sphere that with 
some difficulty he managed to fix over 
his own head. The holes where the tele- 
vision eyes had been, enabled him to 
see out. 

Slipping back into the water, he swam 


158 


AMAZING STORIES 


around. Then, walking in a way as like 
the jerky, marching step of the dum- 
mies as he could manage, he went 
ashore. He didn't trouble to find the 
gap in the wire. He just walked 
through it, tearing it down. Luckily it 
was not barbed. Then he went on 
around the huts and round behind them. 

He heard somebody shout, "Zolweis, 
your dummy is out of order walking 
round on its own." 

"Where?" shouted Zolweis, running 
out. 

"It's gone behind the huts." 

Zolweis went after Vans with a large 
spanner. He lifted Vans' coat. Then 
he gasped when instead of a metal plate 
with nuts he saw white flesh. Before 
he recovered from his surprise Vans' 
fist broke his neck. The wrestling 
champ had a short way with people who 
tried to assassinate Princess Wimpolo. 

"Now you are out of order," said 
Vans. 

T7ANS picked up the spanner and 
went to the end hut. Three Mar- 
tians at their machines looked up to 
see a dummy walk into their hut. One 
of them came up with a spanner. The 
dummy swung its own spanner, killing 
him, then with a rush was on the other 
two. 

Vans looked round. He had ac- 
counted for four. How many more 
were there? 

A Martian came running into the hut. 

"What's the matter? Why are so 
many dummies out of order?" 

"Four humans out of order," cor- 
rected Vans. "And you are the fifth." 

He went out, jerkily, straight into the 
larger hut. The toughest, strongest 
man in Mars was not afraid of a dozen 
ordinary Martians. He saw eight. His 
spanner reduced that number to six be- 
fore the others realized what was hap- 
pening. 


Fighting a mechanical man gone hay- 
wire was a problem. No use trying 
deathrays on it. Two of the surviving 
Martians began to fetch their own dum- 
mies out of the water to defend them. 
The other four rushed straight at Vans, 
trying to throw him on the floor by 
sheer weight. They did not know they 
were attacking the most dangerous man 
in Mars. When they did, if they ever 
did, it was too late. 

In an instant more, Vans was on the 
other two. One man ran, but the hurled 
spanner struck him in the back of the 
head. 

"Huh ! grunted Vans, panting slight- 
ly, "how can you expect to keep your 
dummies working properly when you 
yourselves get out of order so easily?" 

Just then two machine men came 
charging through the doorway. They 
were two dummies recalled from the 
water by the last two operators to sur- 
vive. 

The Martian who had fought and 
killed thirteen other Martians with a 
spanner had no fear of two machine 
men. The two were proper robots with 
a dim intelligence animating them. 
Their last orders had been to kill Vans 
Holors. They came on with the 
dogged persistence of machines. 

Vans hit them so hard that they flew 
through the air. One smashed into a 
large machine from which a steady hiss- 
ing sound had come, silencing it. 

Vans went out. The rest of the dum- 
mies were going all ways, lacking direc- 
tion from their operators. One by one 
they collided with one another or with 
rocks, broke, filled with water and sank. 

"A clean up," said Vans, rubbing his 
hands together. 

"Yes, it certainly was a clean-up," 
agreed a harsh voice. 

Vans swung around. 

"Who are you?" he demanded. 

"Switch on the television and you will 


OUTLAW OF MARS 


159 


Vans did. The lean face of Bommel- 
smeth appeared on the screen. 

"How do, Holors," he grated. 

"How do, King Bommelsmeth," re- 
turned Vans grinning. "I have rather 
dented your dummies and their opera- 
tors." 

"Yes," said Bommelsmeth, nodding. 
"I agree that you have dented my dum- 
mies. Incidentally, in doing so you 
have closed yourself up in a living tomb 
from which you can never escape. I 
have seen, although by bad luck I did 
not turn on the television from my end 
in time to prevent your clean up, as you 
call it. Still, as you have cleaned your- 
self up as well, it's not so bad. I lose 
thirteen men and a lot of machinery, 
but at the same time I rid myself of one 
of my most dangerous enemies. Quite 
a bargain, from my point of view." 

"What do you mean?" growled Vans. 

"I mean that I have given orders for 
the tunnel leading out of that cavern to 
be sealed up with millions of tons of 
rock. The only other way out of that 
cavern is by water. And you can't swim 
it. It's too far. You'd drown if you 
tried. Only if you are towed by robots 
can it be done. And you've smashed 
all the robots! Ha, Ha! To make 
things even better, you've broken the 
air-purifying plant. The foul gases that 
come out of the water will kill you with- 
in a few days. Ha, ha, ha! Good- 
bye ! " 

Vans watched in fascination. As 
Bommelsmeth showed in the television 
screen, a little figure was creeping be- 
hind him. It was me, and Vans says I 
looked subtly changed. I was even 
smaller than before, with quick, darting 
eyes. I leaped through the air toward 
Bommelsmeth. Vans says I moved 
with the speed of a bullet out of a gun. 

Then the television screen went 
blank. 


CHAPTER VI 

Paths of Evolution 

gOMMELSMETH eagerly watched 
the effects of his evolution-hasten- 
ing ray on me. With all his faults, he 
was a keen scientist. 

"It's not working," one of the Mar- 
tians growled disappointedly. Let me 
ray him. It's not safe to keep him 
alive." 

"It is working," Bommelsmeth in- 
sisted. "I can see changes in him al- 
ready, slow changes. It is exactly as I 
thought. Evolution in Earthlings is 
still proceeding, and my ray hastens the 
process naturally, not violently and dis- 
astrously. Now, what are the Earth- 
lings evolving into? I wouldn't miss 
this opportunity for anything." 

All I could say about Bommelsmeth's 
ray at the moment was that it was 
damn painful. It hurts a baby to draw 
its first breath and to cut its first tooth. 
It hurt me to evolve. Queer aches 
racked my whole body. I groaned and 
shuddered. I exaggerated these pains, 
groaning and shuddering much more 
violently than I need have done. I pre- 
tended to fall in a faint. 

Bommelsmeth took no notice, except 
to adjust his machine so that I still got 
the full benefit of it as I lay in the stone 
floor of the rough cavern. 

"He's getting smaller!" one of the 
Martians exclaimed, suddenly. 

"Yes," said Bommelsmeth. "The 
tiny creature is getting smaller than 
ever. Yet I see no signs of his develop- 
ing, as yet, an enlarged head with a 
bigger brain and no hair or teeth. The 
head, in fact, is diminishing in size 
along with the rest of the body. Now, 
what can be the reason for that? Does 
the tide of the evolution ebb and flow 
like the sea on the shore? Are Earth- 
lings at the present time losing intelli- 


160 


AMAZING STORIES 


gence instead of gaining? Or does that 
apply to this one Earthling only? Or 
will the developing small brain be more 
efficient than the old big one?" 

"I think I can answer your ques- 
tions," another Martian said, thought- 
fully. 

"Well do." 

"The human race on earth is at pres- 
ent splitting into two separate branches. 
One branch will be very small and ac- 
tive, like this example. The other 
branch will grow big, with large brains, 
and will move about very slowly. In 
time, no doubt, they will lose the power 
of walking and be carried everywhere 
on machines run by smaller men of ac- 
tion. Both branches will be far more 
intelligent than the present race of 
Earthlings, but will be specialized. If 
we could get hold of, say, Professor 
Winterton, and ray him, we might get 
an example of the big, huge-brained 
Earthling, hardly capable of movement, 
who would be to this creature before 
us — " 

"The natural counterpart," I think 
he was going to say, but he got no fur- 
ther. 

I had certainly been getting smaller, 
and losing weight too.* 

With my general reduction in size, 
my hands were also getting smaller, so 
that soon they were able to slip out of 
the iron rings that held them. Bommel- 
smeth hadn't thought of that. 

*The height to which I could jump and the 
speed at which I could run. have always been 
amazing to the slow, lumbering Martians. My 
running, climbing and jumping powers are mirac- 
ulous. How I could open the eyes of my old 
friends at sport now 1 Whether my smaller brain 
is more intelligent than the old I cannot say. I 
have not noticed much difference. But it seems 
to work more quickly than the old one. Time is 
altered, for me. The bands of Winterton's watch, 
for instance, seem now to take far longer to go 
round than they did. All living creatures seem 
to me to have become much bigger and to move 
far more slowly than once they did. 

— Do.x Hargriavls. 


I slipped out my hands, behind my 
back. Then, in one movement, I 
jumped to my feet and leaped. 

■yX/TIAT a leap! I was not yet ac- 
customed to my new powers. I 
could always jump high in the light 
gravity of Mars. Now I could clear 
thirty feet. 

I seemed to fly like a bird. I went 
high over the ray machine with its 
trumpet that directed the ray at me, 
high over the heads of the giant Mar- 
tians, while they still gaped at the spot 
where I had been. Their brains were 
too slow and their neck muscles were 
too slow for them to realize what had 
happened and turn their heads to fol- 
low my movements. 

Slowly they turned. Swiftly I landed. 
I jumped again, not as high this time, 
but high enough to kick one of the 
Martians in the head with my metal 
heel. My back was turned to him as I 
kicked. I can kick very hard that way. 
To kick a Martian in the head in the 
ordinary way hurts my foot more than 
it does the Martian. 

My kicks cannot put men weighing 
three-quarters of a ton out of action, but 
their speed and the metal of my shoes 
does make them painful. The man I 
had kicked sat down slowly with a 
groan, and reached for a death-ray. 

Slow as he was, and slow as were the 
others, six of them were reaching for 
the nerve-stopping deathrays. I had to 
run for it. 

I went through a door and along a 
dark cavern. The door swung open 
wide behind me. A beam of light shone 
into this second room, or cavern. 
Giants thundered after me. 

The door of this cavern was closed. 
It was closed with one of those heavy 
Martian bolts that I cannot open. For 
an instant it looked as though I was 
trapped. I leaped into the air. 


OUTLAW OF MARS 


161 


High on the smooth walls I found 
projections to which I could cling. I 
leaped to other projections, and to 
others. 

The giants came in, shining their 
light beams around. It looked hope- 
less. But they shouted, "He's not in 
here!" and poured through the second 
door. 

I waited until they had gone, then 
looked into the first room, where Bom- 
melsmeth was. He had remained be- 
hind. He was bending over one of this 
beloved machines. 

I jumped and hid myself on a shelf 
among the bottles and things. I saw 
that the machine Bommelsmeth was 
using was a television set. 

"They'll never catch him," Bommel- 
smeth was saying to himself. "But I 
know how to get him. I'll get my dum- 
mies out of the secret cavern to track 
him down." 

He twirled dials and knobs. Then 
an idea seemed to strike him suddenly. 

"Suppose that Earthling doubled 
back here!" he said. Striding to the 
door he threw heavy metal bars across 
it. 

Then back he came to the television 
machine. 

T WAS right behind Bommelsmeth 
and I could see the screen almost as 
well as he could. The scene I saw 
amazed me as much as it did Bommel- 
smeth. In a smallish cavern an ani- 
mated dummy with plain metal head 
marched mechanically around, spread- 
ing slaughter. Hurling its spanner, the 
dummy killed the last man, then took 
off its metal helmet. It was Vans 
Holors, disguised. Two other dum- 
mies attacked him, but these also Vans 
Holors destroyed. 

I saw other dummies, uncontrolled, 
smash themselves up. I saw Bommel- 
smeth reveal himself to Vans. I heard 


him, gloatingly tell Vans that he was 
now trapped forever in the little cavern. 

Then I leaped at Bommelsmeth from 
behind. My foot struck the delicate 
machinery of the television as I went 
through the air, so Vans saw nothing of 
the fight. 

Bommelsmeth half turned. I caught 
him a good bang over the right ear with 
my iron-studded heel. Giving him no 
time to recover, I leaped and kicked 
him over the right eye. A hand grabbed 
at me, but missed. 

All this time he had been shouting for 
help with all the strength of his enor- 
mous lungs. I heard answering shouts. 

"Come back, you fools," Bommel- 
smeth roared. "You have let the Earth- 
ling slip past you. He's in the control 
room, all over the place like a jumping 
cricket." * 

I tried to stop him with kicks on the 
mouth, delivered with my back to him 
while I turned a somersault in the air. 
His hands beat the air trying to seize 
me, but they were very slow. To him, 
it must have been like fighting a wasp. 

Soon a dozen giant Martians were 
hammering on the door. Bommelsmeth 
bellowed : 

"It's barred ! Get a melting ray pis- 
tol!" 

A Bommelsmeth melting ray, which 
turns all known substances into gases, 
would soon cut the door open, I knew. 
I had to hammer Bommelsmeth uncon- 
scious before they got in. But a man 
who weighs fifteen hundredweight takes 
a lot of knocking out. 

All at once Bommelsmeth fell back- 
ward. This unexpected victory took me 
by surprise. For an instant I could 
only gape. He had fallen right in the 
path of the beam from the trumpet of 
his evolution-hastening machine. 

* Bommelsmeth did not, of course, refer to an 
Earthling cricket, but to a small rodent that is 
roughly its Martin equivalent. — Ed. 


162 


AMAZING STORIES 


But Bommelsmeth's pretended col- 
lapse was only strategy, as I realized an 
instant later. By feigning unconscious- 
ness, he checked my attack for a mo- 
ment, and was able to reach a deathray 
box that rested on a seat. 

As I leaped over his head to avoid 
the deadly ray, I secretly kicked the 
switch that set the evolution-speeding 
ray in motion. Yes, I let him have the 
chromosomes of his own body cells 
mucked about with, as he had mucked 
about with those of so many other peo- 
ple. So busy was he trying to get me 
with his ray that he did not even notice 
the yellow light, his own danger signal. 

For a minute or so he flashed his ray 
about while I jumped. It was some- 
thing like a man slashing at a gnat with 
a walking-stick. In the end, of course, 
he was bound to get me. But his strokes 
slowed up. The raybox fell from his 
hands. 

Then I was able to look at him. 
Bommelsmeth was evolving fast. He 
was rushing down one of the queer side 
turnings that branch off the main path 
of evolutionary progress. His skin was 
growing a coat of smooth, shiny black 
fur, his hands and feet were changing 
into flippers. 

But I had no time to watch the prog- 
ress of Bommelsmeth. The melting- 
ray was in action. The metal bar had 
been cut through. Another second and 
the door would open. 

CHAPTER VII 

Return 

'T'O silence Bommelsmeth, I switched 
his death-ray to half strength so 
that it would only produce unconscious- 
ness, and let him have it. The half- 
developed creature fell in an ungainly 
attitude. 

Then I looked for hiding. Time was 


short. I snatched the trumpet-shaped 
funnel off the evolution-speeding ma- 
chine. I turned it upside-down and hid 
under it. Like a candle under an old 
fashioned extinguisher. The evolution 
ray, no longer confined and directed by 
the funnel, filled the whole cavern. I, 
alone, was shielded from it. 

The door crashed open. I heard 
many Martians come in. I heard their 
puzzled cries. 

"The place is empty!" 

"Where's the chief?" 

"Where's the Earthling?" 

"What's that black thing on the 
floor?" 

Then someone shouting, 

"The Earthling must be hiding some- 
where. Shut the door so that he can't 
get out, and hunt till you find him." 

I heard things being turned over. 
Presently came strange cries. 

"What's the matter? What's hap- 
pening?" 

I took a cautious peep out. The 
Martian nearest the evolution machine 
had developed long ears, horns and a 
tail. And all the others were changing 
at a speed that was beyond all belief, 
into creatures more fantastic than any 
science-fiction artist ever dreamed of. 
Half cat, half fish, half horse, half crab, 
half spider, half bird. But I am no 
artist, and can never convey to you the 
incredible nightmare of shapes that re- 
sulted from evolution, after its sleep of 
ages, being suddenly kicked into action. 

With one impulse all these queer 
creatures made for the door and rushed 
away; galloping, leaping, crawling, glid- 
ing, flying. I came out from under my 
extinguisher turned off the ray. 

Bommelsmeth was still there uncon- 
scious. He had now changed com- 
pletely into some amphibious creature 
that I can describe only by saying that 
it was something like a sea-lion. 

Bommelsmeth, the mighty Bommel- 


OUTLAW OF MARS 


163 


smeth, who once held all Mars in such 
terror as had never before been known 
on either of the twin worlds, turned into 
a sea-lion! 

Suddenly I remembered Vans Holors. 
It took me only a few minutes to con- 
tact Vans. The television had already 
been adjusted to the correct spot by 
Bommelsmeth, otherwise I might have 
hunted forever without finding that one 
little cavern in the heart of a great rock. 

'Y/'ANS was sitting there looking 
pretty dejected, but brightened at 
the sight of me. I told my story hastily, 
and he told his. 

"Don, boy," he said, "we've beaten 
Bommelsmeth, but we're both in a 
jam." 

"How do you mean?" 

"I mean I can't get out of here. You 
can't get out of there where you are." 

"How come?" 

"Can you find your way across the 
surface of Mars to the cavern you came 
out of?" 

That was a new thought to me. 

"No, I can't," I said presently, not 
feeling quite so bright. 

"And another thing, Don," he went 
on. "There is a price on your head. 
You are an outlaw. I have been listen- 
ing to the radio-television broadcast." 

He explained how I had been accused 
of the attempted assassination of Prin- 
cess Wimpolo. 

"That is awkward, Vans," I said. 
"What am I to do?" 

"Go back to Earth, Don," he said 
earnestly. "You can do it now. You 
have a hermetically-sealed travel- 
sphere. Your blood krypton has been 
removed by Bommelsmeth. You could 
soon find the mines of your old mining 
company where your Earth friends are. 
Go back to Earth, Don. Leave us Mar- 
tians to solve our own problems." 

I thought for a minute. 


"No, Vans," I said. "I cannot leave 
Princess Wimpolo. I cannot leave you 
to die miserably in that cavern. I can- 
not leave all the Earthlings in Mars im- 
prisoned at Usulor's orders. I've got to 
get you out, and I've got to prove my 
own innocence." 

"But how, Don?" 

"Be quiet, Vans. Let me think." 

"Vans," I said presently, "to prove 
that I did not attempt the assassination 
of Wimpolo, we must produce the real 
culprit. We must produce the dummy 
made to represent me. Was it ever 
found?" 

"No, it was never found," said Vans. 

"That dummy was just about my old 
weight and strength," I mused. "What 
would I do if a lot of big dummies were 
hunting me? I would climb, Vans, look 
up. Is my dummy anywhere above you 
on the rocks?" 

Vans turned a searchlight beam up- 
wards, then gave a shout. 

"Why, yes. It is sitting in a crevice 
in the rocks. It must have reached it 
when its stored power gave out." 

"Good. Now, Vans, make a great 
pile of seaweed so that it falls without 
breaking itself. Get a melting ray and 
cut away the rocky ledge it sits on." 

In a few minutes the dummy was 
down. 

Bommelsmeth, or the sea-lion that 
had been Bommelsmeth, had opened his 
eyes and was staring at me mournfully. 
I had chained him to the wall, and also 
I held in my hand one of his own melt- 
ing-ray pistols in case of accidents. He 
seemed still able to understand what 
Vans and I were talking about. 

T TNDER my directions Vans repaired 
the dummy, emptied out what wa- 
ter had not drained out, and got it wa- 
tertight. 

"Capital ! " I said. "Now you have a 
dummy that can haul you- through the 


164 


AMAZING STORIES 


watery caverns to safety." 

"One moment," said Vans. "Not so 
fast ! Who is going to sit at the switch- 
board here and direct the dummy while 
it is hauling me to safety?" 

"Wuffl Wuff! Wuff!" barked the 
sea-lion. I'll swear it was laughing. 

"Never mind, Vans," I said. "Get 
the dummy going. Send it out. Use it 
to tell our friends where we are!" 

"Attaboy!" murmured Vans, getting 
busy. 

Very soon I was sharing Vans' view 
of what the dummy saw relayed by its 
radio television eyes. In a few mo- 
ments the thing was swimming ashore 
near Usulor's royal palace. People saw 
it, shouted, "Don, the outlaw!" 

Nerve-stopping death-rays were 
aimed at it, but naturally the dummy 
was unharmed. It went on. Guards 
rushed at it, but it leaped over their 
heads and still went on. Up the wall 
of the palace it climbed as a squirrel 
runs up the trunk of a tree. It reached 
the Princess' apartment. 

"Princess Wimpolo!" it called. 
"Princess Wimpolo! I can explain 
everything." 

Wimpolo came through a doorway, 
just as the dummy got through the win- 
dow. 

"Don!" she cried. "Take care! My 
father — " 

Just then a guard who had hidden 
himself behind some curtains jumped 
out and swung a heavy sword. Vans 
was a fraction of an instant too slow in 
seeing it. The sword, like a great ax, 
crashed through the head of the 
dummy, putting it out of action for- 
ever. 

The guard thought he was saving the 
Princess from a second attempt at as- 
sassination. 

"Seems we get no luck, Vans," I said 
gloomily. 

"Wuff! Wuff! " barked the sea-lion, 


"Be quiet," I said. 

Vans was watching in the television. 

"Don," he said, "your sea-lion wants 
to talk to you." 

"Wuff! Wuff!" barked the sea-lion, 
nodding harder than ever. "Wuff! 
Wuff! Wuff! Wuff!" 

"Don!" cried Vans, dancing with ex- 
citement. "It's answering you! It's 
telling you it can help! Oh, give it a 
trial!" 

"Wuff!" said the sea-lion, plead- 
ingly. 

"All right, then," I said. "Come." 

I didn't like the idea of trusting that 
creature. So I said to it, "Now, see, 
I'm taking your evolution ray machine 
with me. Rescue us, and I'll change 
you back into a man again. Fail us, 
and you stay a sea-lion forever. Get 
me?" 

He nodded. 

The sea-lion led the way to the air- 
tight traffic sphere. In no time at all 
we had shot across the plain, sea-lion 
steering, and shot down into the other 
cavern. The sea-lion drove with sick- 
ening recklessness. In a few minutes 
we were beside the still sea. The sea- 
lion slithered over the rocks and dived, 
as such creatures do, like a stone. 

A MINUTE passed, two minutes, 
five minutes, ten minutes, twenty 
minutes. At last it returned with Vans 
in its mouth. Vans was almost uncon- 
scious despite his Martian swimming 
powers, but needed nothing but a rest 
to regain his full strength. 

"Now," I said to the sea-lion, "I'll 
keep my promise. I'll turn you back 
into a man again." 

Not that I felt too sure of myself. 
Bommelsmeth back again might be a 
problem. But I had promised. I put 
the indicator into reverse, set the ma- 
chine going. 

The sea-lion shuffled hastily out of 


OUTLAW OF MARS 


165 


the way, wuffing. I turned the ma- 
chine round. Again it shuffled out of 
the way. 

"It doesn't want to be turned back," 
Vans cried. 

Then I understood. There was no 
certainty that the changeback would 
be successful. Bommelsmeth knew 
what strong medicine his ray was, and 
the wild results it was likely to produce. 
Safer to remain a sea-lion. 

"As you like it," I said. And he is 
still my pet sea-lion. 

We drove to the palace. Vans got 
out. I remained inside, out of sight. 

"Vans," shouted the guards in de- 
light. "Enter! High honor awaits you 
for saving the Princess!" 

"What is this?" asked Vans point- 
ing to a notice offering the huge reward 
for my body, dead or alive. 

"Oh, forget that!" said the Captain 
of the Guard. "That's cancelled. It 
wasn't Don that attacked the Princess. 
It was an animated dummy. That 
same dummy came back and had an- 
other try, but one of the guards caught 
it. The Princess thought she had seen 
Don killed before her eyes until all the 
wires and wheels and valves fell out. 
Don is pardoned, and all the Earthlings 
are free." 

At that I jumped out of the sphere. 
A great shout went up. People poured 
out of the palace. 

"Vans," I whispered, "take care of 
the evolution ray and get it well out of 
sight. It's not safe to leave it about 
and these people will keep me busy." 

■yTANS picked up the box and went 
off. .He raced for his own home. 
As he rushed into the front garden an- 
other figure might have been seen slip- 
ping out the back in a hurry. 

Vans looked eagerly around. His 
eyes sought out the slim figure of Olla 
his wife. 


"Olla," he roared, thundering toward 
her. "I've come back! Your Vans is 
back!" 

Then he stopped short. She stood 
glaring up at him. 

"What have you got to say for your- 
self?" she demanded furiously. 

He gaped. 

"You nearly left me a widow," she 
stormed, "just to save her. You think 
more of her than you do me! " 

"But, Olla, love, I—" 

A stinging slap on the cheek stopped 
him. She couldn't hurt the strongest 
man in Mars physically, but she did 
hurt his feelings. 

"Olla!" he protested. 

"Leave me," she ordered. Then he 
saw the big box he had been carrying. 
"What's that?" she demanded. 

"I don't know," he said, "but you 
mustn't touch it. It's dangerous." 

Olla snorted. The big bear trying to 
order her about! She went straight to 
the box and fiddled with the knobs. 

"Olla! Don't! It's dangerous." 

"Stuff," she said. "It's a new tele- 
vision set. Stop your squawks and tell 
me how to work it." 

Vans was in distress. He couldn't 
manhandle Olla. 

"Don," he called, rushing out. 
"Come! I need you." 

When I got there a large red and yel- 
low bird, something like a flamingo, 
stood full in the glare of the evolution 
ray, making strange noises and flap- 
ping its wings in puzzlement. All at 
once it flew up in the air clumsily and 
vanished in the distance. 

"Olla!" moaned Vans. 

He rushed off. 

Five minutes later a small airplane 
roared over my head at a considerable 
speed. Vans Holors had gone to find 
his wife. 

Up to the moment of writing he has 
not been heard from. — Don Hargreaves. 



SALE 


by 

ALFRED B ESTER 



Life For Sale, Inc. had exactly that to 
sell. And they sold it— because even if 
air is free, you've got to breath it . . . 


""I \OR the love of mud, are you 
rl going to let a pack of women 
make you jittery?" laughed 
Guthry Wilder, Chief of Scienticity. 
He grinned at the other Department 
Heads gathered in the Broadcasting 
studio. "You're all as jumpy as a flea 
circus with the itch." 

"It's not a case of jitters," protested 
Billy Freeman, "I'm only throwing out 
an idea for what it's worth. I just said 
I was worried about two hundred Helio- 
copters hanging ten thousand feet over- 


head all morning . . . And now Fray 
Gilbert's speech ..." 

"Them Helios are probably an ad- 
vertising stunt," grunted Jinx Cauld- 
well. He was tall and indolent, but his 
speech had a caustic quality. It seemed 
to enrage Billy Freeman. 

"Yeah?" he said. "Well, listen to 
this." He went to the control board and 
snapped a switch. 

Instantly the great viso-screen took 
life. They saw the tiny figure of a girl 
gesticulating on a platform. Below her, 



167 


AMAZING STORIES 


dressed in the red and blue uniforms of 
the Suffragette Party, hordes of women 
screamed and waved white-flashing 
arms. 

"... This is the twenty-first cen- 
tury," cried Fray Gilbert in a bell-clear 
voice. "This is Scienticity, the scientific 
center of the world. Here, we women 
work side by side with the men. We 
work as hard and as well; and yet we're 
excluded from the Governing Board of 
the City. The women of all other cities 
throughout the world have the vote 
... but not us ... " 

"Funny," laughed G u t h Wilder, 
"how a principle can make an idiot out 
of a gal. No offense, Steve." 

"I can take it," groaned Steve Em- 
ory, Chief of Physiology. "If I'd known 
Fray was going to start this foolish- 
ness, I'd never have started dating 
her." 

Guth Wilder paced to the window 
of the Broadcasting Control room. Be- 
low them, on the broad green lawn 
before the building, was the Suffrag- 
ette Demonstration that was being 
broadcast. Guth thrust open the crys- 
tal window and listened to the cacoph- 
ony that drifted up through the warm 
afternoon air. Fray Gilbert's voice 
sounded clearly. Her words from the 
studio "mike" called like an echo. 

"We demand proportional represen- 
tation," she cried. "This is not the dark 
age. We are all Scienticitizens; we 
have as many rights as men. I tell you, 
unless we are granted the vote, we 
shall have to take matters in our own 
hands!" 

A scream of approval went up. 

"You hear that?" demanded Billy 
Freeman. He pointed overhead. "You 
see those white Helios? Drifting up 
there all morning. Why? I'll tell you. 
This Gilbert woman is organizing a 
putsch. Those Helios are waiting up 
there for a signal. When Fray Gilbert 


says the words, they'll come swooping 
down and let hell break loose!" 

"Ridiculous!" snorted Steve Emory. 
"You fellows don't know Fray. She 
may get excited about an ideal, but 
she'd never do anything like that." 

"No . . . Wait a minute." Guth 
stared down at the demonstration and 
then up at the Helios soaring like 
specks of silver. "Maybe Billy isn't so 
wrong. You better cut her off, son. Let 
her finish her speech, but don't broad- 
cast any more." 

"I knew you'd see light!" exclaimed 
Billy Freeman. He dashed to the con- 
trol panel and began throwing switches. 
The image on the viso-screen faded. 
The voice was chopped off. Through 
the studio windows they could hear it 
continue. 

"This is silly," complained Emory. 
"Fray will be furious when she finds 
out." 

"Maybe not so silly," drawled Jinx 
Cauldwell. "Seems to me Guth usually 
has an A-l hunch for the things he 
does." 

"It's only a hunch," admitted Guth. 
He looked around at the Department 
Chiefs who had gathered in the Studio. 
A dozen young men, the cream of the 
world's scientific talent. It gave him 
a feeling of security to know they were 
behind him, ready to back up any one 
of his hunches. The responsibility of 
directing Scienticity lay heavy on his 
own young shoulders. 

HPHROUGH the broad open window 
of the Studio came the dull clamour 
of a mob. The shrills of women's voices 
punctuated by men's shouts. Fray Gil- 
bert had ceased speaking. 

The Department Chiefs glanced curi- 
ously at each other, then moved to the 
window to look out again, their light 
metal-fabric tunics rustling. The Broad- 
casting Studio was set in a small park, 


LIFE FOR SALE 


169 


and from the window the men could 
easily examine the tree studded lawn 
below them. 

They stared, then shouted with 
laughter. A small parade had formed 
and was marching around the Studio. 
A parade of women, in ragged ranks, 
all carrying the red and blue banners 
of the Suffragette Party. They sang 
snatches of their party anthem and 
were screaming excitedly. Banners 
read: WE WANT TO VOTE and 
DOWN WITH MEN and NO REP- 
RESENTATION, NO PRODUC- 
TION. But most ridiculous of all, the 
women had stripped off their clothes 
and were marching stark naked! 

Crowds of jeering men lined the 
sidewalks around the park and gaped. 
The guards before the Studio gates had 
left their posts for a better look, and 
were nearly doubled up with laughter. 
The afternoon sun filtered through the 
towering buildings and glinted on the 
nude bodies. From far to the east came 
the faint howls of police sirens. 

"And that," laughed Guth Wilder, 
"is what wants to vote. These are the 
women who want to sit at the Govern- 
ing Board with us." 

"The more I look," grinned Billy 
Freeman, "the more I'm inclined to 
like the idea." 

The park packed solidly with human 
flesh, the women still trying to march, 
the bystanders crowding around, yell- 
ing and guffawing. It was the most 
unprecedented mob scene that had yet 
taken place since the turn of the 
twenty-first century. As the police 
drove up and knifed their way through 
the jammed thousands, the lawn turned 
into a roiling mass of confusion. 

The Department Chiefs of Scienti- 
city leaned far out to watch the fun, 
and only dimly through the confusion 
did they hear a woman's voice behind 
them. Curt and incisive. 


"Turn around!" 

As he withdrew his head from the 
window, Guth Wilder was only vaguely 
conscious of the interruption. He 
turned easily and saw the others of 
his staff yanking in their heads. Then 
he started as he realized that the Stu- 
dio had filled up with women. They 
were drawn up, ten of them, before 
the broad instrument-lined wall, all In 
the smart red blouses and blue shorts 
of the Suffragette Party. A little be- 
fore them stood a tall girl. 

She had flaming red hair and fierce 
green eyes, and her full mouth was 
drawn into a severe line. Her legs were 
long and straight and under the light 
blouse, Guth could see the trembling 
rise and fall of her high breasts. But 
the gleaming Chron-gun in her hand 
was a little too real, and it looked like 
a cannon in her long fingers as she 
advanced slowly. 

"Sit down," she said. She motioned 
the gun at the others. 

V\7"ILDER eased his big frame into 
a crystal chair and nodded to his 
men. Then, for a few minutes, there 
was no sound in the large office but 
the echo of shouts and screams from 
the park. 

"Very nice," said Wilder at length. 
"Is this a social call?" 

"In heaven's name, Fray!" cried 
Steve Emory, "are you out of your 
mind?" 

"The name," she said acidly to Em- 
ory, "is Miss Gilbert . . . and this 
happens to be a business call." She 
turned to Guth. "Now listen to me, 
Mister Wilder and all the rest of you 
fatuous, conceited Governors. I ex- 
pected at least the right of free speech 
and fair play from you." 

"Now, now," soothed Guth. He 
didn't like the looks of those Chron- 
Guns. One little blast could paralyze 


170 


AMAZING STORIES 


a man for keeps. 

"I knew you cut off my broadcast 
within a minute," snapped Fray Gil- 
bert. "I had aides listening in waiting 
for just such a dirty trick . . . and I 
had that parade of mine outside organ- 
ized to take care of such an emergency. 
In the past you've laughed at our de- 
mand for a vote in Scienticity affairs. 
I think my ruse for breaking into the 
Broadcasting Studios may twist that 
laugh to the other side of your face." 

"Very adroit," nodded Guth. "You 
attracted the attention of the guards 
in front of the gate with that mass 
strip-tease and slipped in unnoticed." 
Rapidly he calculated the odds. There 
were twelve men to eleven women. 
Easy enough but for the fact that they 
were strapping gals who seemed to 
know how to handle their Chron-guns. 

"Please, Fray," Broke in Emory. 
"Can't we talk this over reasonably. 
You're letting yourself in for an awful 
mess ..." 

"Shut up, Steve. Now ... we don't 
like you, Mister Wilder," she continued 
in flat tones. "We've worked in the labs 
of Scienticity just as hard as the men. 
When we've asked for a vote in the 
city affairs you've brushed us aside as 
though we don't count." 

Guth laughed. 

"And now you're going to show me 
that you do count," he said. "Look, 
Miss Gilbert, you're too pretty to talk 
politics behind a gun. Why get so ex- 
cited? It's not really that important, 
is it?" 

"Let's understand each other," re- 
turned Fray icily. "We're serious about 
this. We intend to take matters in our 
own hands. Even if it means bloodshed 
and violence." 

"What did I tell you!" exclaimed 
Billy Freeman. "Those damned white 
Helios floating around up there ..." 

"Shut up, Billy!" snapped Guth. He 


arose despite the menace of the gun. 
"Well, Miss Gilbert, what's on your 
mind? A slight case of murder?" 

"A slight case of Broadcast," she 
returned. "I'm going on the air again, 
here in this studio, and I'm going to 
finish my speech. If that doesn't 
awaken Scienticity to the glaring in- 
justice, I'm prepared to take more ur- 
gent measures." 

"Ah," smiled Guth. He motioned to 
his staff. "All of us are Department 
Chiefs and comprise the Board of Gov- 
ernors. You wouldn't intend to use us 
as the price of women's suffrage, would 
you?" 

"If you make it necessary," an- 
swered Fray grimly. She waved the 
Chron-gun at Billy Freeman, Chief of 
Radio. "And now, Mister Freeman, if 
you will tell your crew to prepare a 
studio for me ... " 

Her Chron-gun blasted as Wilder 
leaped forward. The blast whistled over 
his shoulder. He shouted and caught 
the girl's arm, yanking her against his 
chest. Billy Freeman, lightning-fast, 
had already plunged forward and tac- 
kled one of the Suffragettes. There 
were high shrill cries as the other men 
rushed. Then the Chron-guns roared. 

r~<UTH thought he had tangled with 
a wildcat. She lashed her arm free 
and whipped the heavy gun across his 
temple, but as he slumped, he dragged 
her down to the smooth steel floor with 
him. 

He managed to look around. Case 
Conway, the Metabolism Chief, was 
floundering alongside the control panel, 
clutching a gory shoulder. Over against 
the viso-screen, his staff had closed with 
the Suffragettes and were struggling to 
take the Chron-guns from the clawing 
girls. 

"Lie still," hissed Guth, "and I won't 
hurt you!" 


LIFE FOR SALE 


17] 


His arm around the girl's waist 
crushed her against him. He could feel 
the hard young muscles writhe as she 
punched at him with her free hand. He 
shook her wrist once, so savagely that 
tire gun flew from her fingers and clat- 
tered across the floor. Then he gazed 
down at her vivid features. 

Suddenly Guth forgot that he was 
a Lord «f Scienticity, one of the rulers 
of a million scientists. He forgot that 
this was the girl whom Steve Emory 
had been rushing for almost six months. 
He could only think that he was thirty 
years old and had never before been 
so close to a lovely spit-fire; that he 
was thirty years old and had never 
had time enough to fall in love. 

"Be quiet," grinned Guthry Wilder. 
"This won't hurt." 

He bent his head and kissed her. 

And at that moment he nearly died. 
His heart paused . . . clutched and 
stuttered. His breath stopped and his 
frame was wracked with an agonizing 
palsy. He was conscious of blackness 
before his eyes and a roaring in his 
ears ... as though he were drowning. 

He took a breath, and another, his 
heart pounding under the strain. There 
was something horribly wrong with his 
lungs. They had forgotten how to work. 
They would only fill with air when he 
remembered to inhale. 

The fighting in the Broadcasting 
Studio had stopped. Guth looked 
around wildly and saw that the others 
too were gasping spasmodically, a look 
of terror on their faces. Outside, the 
streets were silent. 

Pumping his lungs laboriously, Guth 
got to his feet. He walked toward the 
Studio window and never realized he 
progressed across the slick steel floor 
like a crooked, deformed thing with 
hunched back and twisted spine. All 
he knew was that the lawn and streets 
before the Broadcasting Building were 


cluttered with spasmodically jerking 
humans, crawling on the ground. 

He almost fell from the window-sill 
before he remembered to pump his 
lungs and drive back the sick, dizzy 
blackness that had swept over him. He 
thought: God in Heaven! Respiration 
has suddenly become a voluntary func- 
tion. If you don't remember to breathe, 
you don't . . . and you suffocate. My 
lungs won't inhale unless I consciously 
direct them . . . like working my arms 
and legs. What's happened to us? 

TT-.was, thought Guth, like learning 
to live. He crouched over the win- 
dow and tried to draw breath regularly. 
His diaphragm felt like a new muscle. 
No, not a new one; an old one that he 
was just learning to use. The way a 
man, long bed-ridden, has to learn how 
to walk all over again. 

He crawled to where Fray Gilbert 
lay. Her eyes were open and he could 
see the strained pulse throbbing in her 
neck. Her breasts heaved. 

"What is it?" she gasped. 

"I don't know," answered Guth. 
"Don't talk now . . . " 

He made the rounds of the Studio. 
Case Conway was dead. He'd probably 
fainted from the wound in his shoulder. 
An unconscious man couldn't remem- 
ber to breathe. And there was a blonde 
girl with bangs and astonished brown 
eyes, her mouth in an Oh of amaze- 
ment. But she too must have forgotten 
to pump her lungs until suffocation 
caught her and made it too late to 
remember. 

The others nodded faintly to Guth. 
He crawled back to a chair and yanked 
himself upright. 

"Listen, people," he said. "I don't 
know what's hit us. I do know that 
the lung muscles have turned from 
involuntary to voluntary functions. 
You've got to remember to breathe. 


.172 


AMAZING STORIES 


If you fail you may faint away from 
suffocation. Then it's sure death. Re- 
member to breathe." 

They nodded. Billy Freeman strug- 
gled to his feet and began helping the 
others up. Every few minutes he reeled 
dizzily, clutching at his side. Pearls 
of sweat showed on his chalk-white 
face. 

"There's no sense just staying here 
and gasping," continued Guth. "As 
Chiefs and Governors of Scienticity, 
we should be the first to analyze and 
find a solution. If this plague has 
struck all of Scienticity, it means that 
world communications have broken 
down . . . everything will be disor- 
ganized. Scienticity is the brain and 
heart of the Earth. We've got to act 
fast." 

They were all on their feet when he 
finished, but as they groped toward 
the door, they heard the roar of Helio 
engines come swooping down out of 
the skies. 

"The white helios," gasped Billy 
Freeman. He lurched toward the 
window. 

Guth followed him and stared up. 
Drifting a few hundred feet overhead, 
twisting and floating through the sky- 
scraper heads, was a glittering white 
Heliocopter. Through the buildings 
they could see scores more, sailing over 
the city. 

"Look there I" exclaimed Guth. He 
pointed. 

On the gleaming white metal body 
of the Helio above them, black letters 
stood in relief. Slowly they spelled 
them out. LIFE FOR SALE, INC. 
And at that moment, there was a cough 
and a blare of giant loudspeakers, and 
an enormous metallic voice blasted out, 
speaking to the limp Scienticitizens who 
stared up from below. 

"Ladies and Gentlemen!" roared the 
voice. "This horrible plague that has 


crushed our city can be cured. It is 
a new disease, never before known to 
science, but already a cure has been 
discovered. If you want to return to 
normality. If you want to breathe 
again. If you want to be able to sleep 
and eat and work without fear of death 
... go to a White Helio and ask for 
The Cure. Go to a White Helio and 
ask for The Cure ..." 

The voice blasted on, repeating the 
message. In the distance they could 
hear the faint mechanical rasp of other 
speakers. 

"The Cure," echoed Billy Freeman. 
"I think I begin to get the idea ..." 
He doubled over suddenly and began 
to cough. Red froth appeared on his 
lips. 

"Do you?" said Guth. "Come on. 
Let's see what this is all about." 

'TPHE streets looked like slow motion 
pictures. Hundreds crawled along, 
hands pressed to their sides. At every 
moment a body would crumple to the 
ground, either to add to the thousands 
that were already limp, or shake a while 
and at last rise again. There were few 
voices . . . only whispers. 

Gravi-cars were piled up in little 
clumps along the driveways, their oc- 
cupants sprawled motionless within. 
Overhead gyros hung aimlessly, their 
pilots crumpled over the controls. But 
the planes in the higher altitudes flew 
with purpose, frantically, like birds 
whose nests had been destroyed. Every 
so often one would swoop low, then 
suddenly hang in mid-air as its pilot 
abruptly stiffened upright and col- 
lapsed. 

There was a line a quarter of a mile 
long before the White Helio they found, 
but the Blazon of the Governing Board 
on their tunics gave them immediate 
preference. Guth entered the ship, half 
supporting Fray Gilbert, with Steve 


LIFE FOR SALE 


173 


Emory at her other side. 

The cabin was twelve feet square 
and absolutely bare but for a long rack 
of cases, a smajl stool and an enormous 
sterilizer. The clerk, a small man in 
white smock, was guarded by half-a- 
dozen muscular men, carrying heavy 
Chron-guns. They wore strange chain- 
metal tunics and caps, and around their 
necks were steel collars lettered: L.F.S. 

The clerk lifted the lid of the ster- 
ilizer and brought out a rack of hypo 
needles. He unlocked a case and se- 
lected a handful of ampules. As he 
nipped off the sealed tips and placed 
them in the syringes, a thug beside a 
safe in the corner of the cabin called 
to them. 

"Dollar a shot," he said. "You pay 
as you go." 

Guth threw him a handful of bills 
and seated Fray on the stool. The in- 
jection was made and her arm swiftly 
swabbed with iodine. 

"Twenty hours' immunity," said the 
clerk briskly. "Come back tomorrow. 
Next?" 

The antidote "took" almost imme- 
diately. Guth was relieved to see Fray 
smile and relax. It seemed like a mil- 
lion years before all the women were 
injected, and finally his staff. Guth 
waited until all were through, and at 
last took his treatment. The injection 
ran through his veins like liquid fire. 
He was tingling when he stepped out- 
side the cabin to find his staff waiting 
for him. The Suffragettes had disap- 
peared. 

"And a good thing, too," said Billy 
Freeman. "We've got plenty work 
ahead of us." 

"It's a beautiful idea," said Guth 
reflectively. It was an incredible relief 
to be able to walk and talk without 
devoting the entire consciousness to- 
ward respiration. "Yes ... a beauti- 
ful idea. I'd like to meet the black dog 


who thought of it. Life for sale! Force 
people to buy what they've always 
taken for granted. The whole thing was 
planned, of course. Poison our respira- 
tion centers and then provide a tempo- 
rary cure at a dollar a shot. Probably 
all his clerks and assistants were immu- 
nized way in advance. What a fortune 
that heel is going to make before we 
catch up with him!" 

"A dollar a shot," drawled Jinx 
Cauldwell. "Ten million people in Sci- 
enticity. Ten million dollars a day 

"We don't know if it's all Scienti- 
city," interrupted Guth. "That's one of 
the things we'll have to discover. It 
may show just how we've been poi- 
soned. What in blazes could hit so many 
people at the same time? I've a hunch 
it's gas. Did you notice that Helios 
were immune until they dropped too 
low?" 

'"pHEY reached the Central Admin- 
istration Building, in the little park 
adjoining the Broadcasting Studios. 
There were located the score of offices 
occupied by the various Departmental 
Chiefs of Scienticity. The streets and 
park were deserted, except for the hor- 
ribly still bodies sleeping on the pave- 
ment and grass. It reminded Guth of 
Case Conway, lying upstairs in the 
television Studio. 

"Damn it!" gritted Guth, "it's just 
mass murder!" 

He vaulted up the broad marble steps 
in a white fury, his staff hurrying be- 
hind him, and burst into his large, book- 
lined office. It was only after three 
furious steps that he saw a man loung- 
ing easily behind the big square desk. 
A man in chain metal with a collar 
around his neck. 

"Good evening," smiled the man. 
"I've been waiting for you." He had 
a swarthy face and a thin jet moustache. 


174 


AMAZING STORIES 


"Get to hell out of here," said Guth 
softly, "before I tear you apart." 

"Temper! Temper!" admonished the 
swarthy man. "I have a message for 
you from The Salesman." 

"The Salesman!" Guth laughed 
harshly. "Salesman of what?" 

"Just now . . . Life," answered the 
suave man. He adjusted his collar elab- 
orately. "But it'll be death unless you 
follow orders. The Salesman commands 
you to disband the Governing Council 
of Scienticity at once!" 

"Get out of here," Guth said evenly. 
He stepped forward. The swarthy man 
jumped out of the chair and slipped 
away from Guth's outstretched hand. 

"Those are the orders," he repeated. 
"All science, all research must stop at 
once. All Department Chiefs must re- 
tire and await further information. You 
can obey orders ... or take the con- 
sequences." He began to saunter out. 

"Wait a moment," said Steve Emory. 
"What's it worth to you to sell out?" 

"Betray The Salesman?" laughed 
the swarthy man. "It's not safe." Nev- 
srtheless he hesitated. 

"Here's our price!" broke in Guth. 
He dug his fingers into the metal collar 
and lifted the man wriggling into the 
air. One quick stride brought him to 
the head of the stairs. He swung the 
emissary clattering down the flight, 
turned on his heel and re-entered his 
office, dusting his hands. The heavy 
metal door slammed on the last of the 
fall. 

"That was silly, Guth," protested 
Emory. "He might have helped if we'd 
handled him right." 

"No, Steve. If he'd sell out one side, 
he'd betray the other. We'd just be 
wasting time and money, and taking 
chances. Now look, fellows, this is our 
job for right now. Steve, I want you 
to check on the extent of the plague. 
Jinx, get all the data you can on the 


infection itself. Billy . . .Where the 
hell has Billy Freeman gone to?" 

They looked around. 

"No matter," grumbled Guth. "He's 
probably romancing one of those Suf- 
fragettes. I'll do the job myself." 

'T^HEY scattered for work. Guth 
plugged in the telecaster and dialed 
feverishly. He thanked heaven that 
the teley used the automatic system. 
As his calls came through and he spoke 
for a few minutes with the Scienticity 
Police Commissioner and other officials, 
his face darkened and he began swear- 
ing sulphurously under his breath. 

Steve Emory and Jinx Cauldwell 
came back at last with their reports. 
The infection had covered a ten-mile 
area and was spreading slowly. It 
reached an altitude of about six hun- 
dred feet. It seemed to be a gas. Jinx 
could only add that it might be a nitro- 
gen compound. 

"I haven't had time for a complete 
analysis," he said. "There's an eighty 
per cent nitrogen content in the air 
sample I took, and that's way too high. 
But you've got to give me at least five 
hours more ..." 

"You won't get 'em," retorted Guth. 
"And we won't be able to find out how 
this gas hits us, either. I've just con- 
tacted all the city officials. The Sales- 
man sent his gentle warnings to them, 
too, and they're in a blue funk. It 
looks as though Life For Sale, Inc., 
is really going to take over." 

There was a buzz at the teley, and 
Guth jumped. He took the call, to dis- 
cover Billy Freeman's excited face on 
the screen. 

"Billy!" he exploded. "What the 
hell?" 

"Listen," whispered Billy, "I've got 
to talk fast. I tailed that guy in the 
trick moustache back to his headquar- 
ters. There isn't much time, because I 


LIFE FOR SALE 


175 


think they're tailing me now. Look, 
Guth, the closer you get to the head- 
quarters, the more you snifi a powerful 
stink of ammonia. I think this is a gas 
infection." 

"We figured that ourselves," inter- 
rupted Guth. "Maybe a nitrogen com- 
pound being released. Ammonia may 
be one of the by-products of manufac- 
ture. You found out their plant?" 

"Yeh ..." Billy glanced around 
hurriedly. To one side of him they 
could see the glint of the glass booth 
door. "It's in the headquarters, I think. 
The Central Building, right opposite 
the old Central Park Weather Tower. 
Make it quick, Guth. I'll wait here for 
you. And look, if it's a gas, why don't 
you dig up some gas masks?" 

He cut off. 

"Gas masks I " exclaimed Guth. 
"Where in blazes does he suppose we're 
going to get them?" 

"Museum," answered Frosty Adam- 
son. "On the way up, we can drop in 
at the Museum of Antiquities. They 
have a hundred there, all in good shape. 
We can pick up Chron-guns too." 

"Spoken like an Archaeologist 
oughta," drawled Jinx Cauldwell. "Let's 
go-" 

They hustled out of the Administra- 
tion Building and drove swiftly uptown 
to the Museum of Antiquities on the 
site of the old Metropolitan Muesum 
of Art. There, Frosty Adamson dug 
into the archives and emerged with a 
dozen masks of glass and fabric, relics 
of World War VII, fifty years ago. 

"Damned peculiar," grunted Adam- 
son as he handed around the masks 
and procured Chron-guns from the ar- 
senal. "I could have sworn there were 
at least a hundred masks here, last time 
I looked. These are all I could find." 

"No matter," answered Guth. "We'll 
find the answers later. Just now we've 
got to get west to the Central 


Building!" 

They walked unobtrusively through 
the streets. It was getting dark and 
there were deep shadows. The city 
seemed paralyzed from the shock and 
horror, and the only figures that could 
be seen were the sanitary squads be- 
latedly removing the last few inert 
forms. 

They paused before the Central 
Building and lurked behind an Under- 
ground kiosk. The Central was a small, 
round structure of steel and cobalt. It 
was only ten stories high, and the mid- 
dle floors bulged outward so that the 
structure had a barrel-like appearance. 
Just to the right was the Old Weather 
Tower that Billy had mentioned, perch- 
ed high up on the one fragment of rock 
left as a relic of ancient Central Park. 
There was no sign of Billy. No sign 
of guards near the Central. 

T7ORMING a rough phalanx with 
Guth at the apex, they prepared to 
advance. 

"Just keep moving straight ahead," 
whispered Guth, "as though we've come 
for a talk. Don't start shooting the 
place down until they fire." 

They walked forward. As they neared 
the Central Building Guth tried to re- 
strain himself from running. It was 
a naked feeling, walking slowly and 
waiting for a shot to come ripping out 
of that silent building . . . out of any- 
where. 

But there were only about twenty 
paces more to reach the bleak-looking, 
empty entrance. It looked like a mouse- 
trap. Now only eighteen to go . . . 
sixteen . . . 

The attack swooped down on their 
flanks with whirlwind silence and effi- 
ciency. One moment they were walking 
across an empty avenue toward an 
empty building, the next, a wall of fig- 
ures had swept down on them from 


176 


AMAZING STORIES 


either side. 

No one had time to say anything. 
Guth whipped up his Chron-gun and 
leveled it at a flashing form. Before 
he could press the firing stud, a tiny 
pencil of radiation pointed its bright 
finger at him and pricked his shoulder. 

Waves of coma swept around his 
body from that prick, enfolding him 
like a hot, moist sheet. As he relaxed 
into black velvet unconsciousness, his 
dimming eyes discerned the dull glints 
of red and blue . . . 

"/">ET up," said Fray Gilbert sharply. 

"You've lain there like swine all 
night." She kicked Guth's ribs. 

He rolled over and opened his eyes 
painfully. Fray seemed to tower over 
him, miles high. Still clad in the red 
blouse and blue shorts of the Suffra- 
gettes, she fingered a compact glass and 
fabric gas mask that hung at her neck. 
Guth eyed it for a moment. 

"Nice work," he said slowly. "You 
wouldn't be The Salesman of Death, 
would you?" 

"Don't be a fool!" She shook her 
head impatiently and looked around at 
the others. Guth followed her gaze. He 
and his men were lying on a dozen low 
cots in what appeared to be a dormitory 
of sorts. Small, deep-set windows high 
up in the walls let in shafts of nacreous 
morning sun. The others of his staff 
groaned softly as they thrashed awake. 

"I'd like to know what you dropped 
us with," said Guth mildly, attempting 
to conceal the anger that raged just 
under the surface. "Something new, 
isn't it." 

"Good and new!" mumbled Jinx 
Cauldwell, rubbing his forehead slowly. 

"Yes," said Fray. A smile touched 
the corners of her full mouth. "Some- 
thing I developed to take care of the 
Governors of Scienticity ... In case 
Chron-guns proved inadequate. A neu- 


ron ray. It sets up a short circuit be- 
tween nerve filament and sheath 
through the length of the body." 

"Not bad at all. And now would 
you mind telling us why you butted in 
just when you did? I suppose you 
realize we were about to liquidate Life 
For Sale? Or did I understand you to 
say you were The Salesman?" 

"I told you not to be a fool!" flared 
Fray. 

"You've been the fool," roared Guth, 
all self control suddenly gone, "and I'd 
like to beat some sense into your stub- 
born red head. You might have joined 
forces with us instead of sneaking off 
and knifing us in the back." 

"Atababy, Guth," jeered Jinx Cauld- 
well. "Show her who wears the pants 
in this city." 

Fray slipped a small silver pencil 
from her belt and displayed it. 

"If I hear another word," she said 
furiously, "I'll drop you all again and 
let you sleep past injection time. Ever 
try to breathe consciously while you're 
unconscious?" 

That sobered them. 

'"VTOW," she continued a little more 
calmly. "I just want you to know, 
Mr. Wilder, that I'm not in league with 
Life For Sale, but I happen to be able 
to see more than an inch in front of 
my nose. I could join forces with you, 
but I'm aware that once the major men- 
ace is gone, you'd be quite capable of 
betraying me. I'd rather have you out 
of the way first before I crack this Life 
For Sale. Then I'll be sure that the 
aims of the Suffragette Party will be 
fulfilled when sanity is restored." 

"That is," said Guth, "assuming that 
you'll be capable of cracking Life For 
Sale." 

"Men are so superior," laughed Fray. 
"They'll never admit a woman can do 
something as well, if not better than 


LIFE FOR SALE 


177 


they. We trailed your Mister Freeman, 
intercepted his message, beat you to 
the Museum and left just enough gas 
masks to enable you to walk into our 
trap. If we can handle our Lords and 
Masters, the Gods of the Governing 
Council, so easily ... we can deal 
with Life For Sale." 

"What did you do with Freeman?" 
demanded Guth. 

"He slipped away somehow . . . 
but," Fray dismissed the matter airily, 
"he'll be picked up again before long. 
Just now we have more important busi- 
ness at hand than to waste time with 
you." 

"I'll say it's important," retorted 
Guth grimly. "Every moment of our 
time and yours that you've wasted 
means that much more for The Sales- 
man to prepare for us. You're clever 
. . . yes, as clever as the mongrel that 
steals a bone the bigger dogs are fight- 
ing for." 

"Quiet," shouted Fray. 

"And that's typical of all you 
women," continued Guth savagely. He 
got to his feet and walked up to her 
deliberately. "You want to know why 
I've refused to give you a vote? I'll 
tell you. Because you women meddle, 
you confuse the issues, you're smugly 
proud of your strength when you knife 
a fighting man in the back. You haven't 
the guts to fight fairly nor the integrity 
to admit defeat. You're not fighters 
. . . you're scavengers picking at left- 
overs. Now, go ahead and shoot, damn 
your red-headed stupidity!" 

She raised the pencil, speechless with 
rage, met Guth's furious eyes for a 
moment, and at last dashed out of the 
room. The door slammed and locked 
behind her. 

"Nice work!" drawled Jinx Cauld- 
well. 

"Couldn't have done better myself," 
grinned Frosty Adamson. 


"Ditto!" called Billy Freeman. 

"Billy!" Guth jumped and stared 
around. "Where in blazes are you, 
man?" 

"At the window. Steve Emory's here 
too. We caught that speech. It was 
beautiful!" 

T3ILLY Freeman punctuated his 
words with little heaves that slid 
his slender frame through the high nar- 
row window. As he lowered himself 
and dropped the last few feet, they saw 
Steve Emory crawl around a huge stone 
cornice and begin to squirm in. 

"This is an old place, full of roccoco," 
grinned Billy as he shook hands all 
around. "Used to be some kind of girls' 
school overlooking the Hudson. It's 
cluttered with stone carvings. Steve 
and I had a cinch climbing up. Those 
stupid gals never thought of placing a 
guard on the roof." 

"How'd you get away? What hap- 
pened?" 

"I was waiting for you just under 
the Weather Tower," explained Billy. 
"The first thing I knew there were you 
all coming across the avenue and a mob 
of Suffragettes between us. I skirted 
around to get to you from the rear and 
I heard pops and met Steve running 
like hell ..." 

"They missed me in the gloom," ex- 
plained Emory. 

"After they had you down," contin- 
ued Billy, "they split up into two 
groups. One group picked you up and 
I followed them here. Steve followed 
the other gang. We arranged to meet 
at the Administration Building this 
morning." 

"How about your gang, Steve," asked 
Guth. "What'd they do?" 

"Nothing," grinned Emory. "Just 
like women. My gang just wandered 
around. Any fool could see they were 
trying to mislead shadowers. So I 


178 


AMAZING STORIES 


scouted around the Central Building the 
rest of the night and ruined my throat 
with ammonia. Couldn't discover much, 
though." 

"Well ..." sighed Guth, "let's get 
to hell out of this hens' nest and get 
to work again." 

Billy revealed half-a-dozen Chron- 
guns and they were snatched up eager- 
ly. But when he had been boosted up 
to the window again to look around, he 
paused and whistled softly. Then he 
dropped back to the stone flagging. 

"Just like women," he complained, 
"to do things too late. The roof has a 
dozen guards on it. No sense trying 
to climb out. They could be waiting 
for us by the time we got down." 

"Damn!" swore Guth. "We can't 
shoot them down. I'd like to spank 
that Gilbert . . . but there's no real 
harm in the rest of them ... Oh, no 
offense, Steve." 

"I'd like to spank her too," said 
Emory grimly. "Making a fool of her- 
self and me. When this mess is over 
I'm going to teach her the lesson of 
her life!" He shook his cropped head 
angrily. 

"Let's rush out through the door," 
suggested Billy. "We can make a mass 
action out of it." 

"Right," said Guth. "But remember, 
no shooting. These confounded Chron- 
nies put people away for keeps. Let's 
save that for Life For Sale." 

"Sure," laughed Billy. He went to 
the door and leveled his Chron-gun at 
the lock. "But it's all right to sock 'em, 
huh? There's a blondie I've got my 
eye on. It may lead to pleasant com- 
plications. Stand by, everyone!" 

UTS Chron-gun blasted a square foot 
out of the heavy metal door. Billy 
kicked it open and the crowd of men 
rushed through. They came upon a 
smail ante-room that led to a flight of 


curving stairs. They were halfway down 
before a cry arose from below, and red 
and blue uniforms began to scurry. 

Guth slammed a shot into the wall 
over their heads just to keep the women 
fluttering, but they didn't scare too 
easily. An uneven rank drew up along 
the high hall into which the stairs de- 
bouched. Fray Gilbert stood at their 
head, the silver pencil in her hand. 

"Jig's up, Wilder," she called clearly. 
"As soon as you reach the bottom step 
we'll fire." 

"Horse-opera!" he yelled and kept 
on down the stairs. They were only 
women, after all, he reflected, and they 
wouldn't be so eager to shoot those 
deadly little neuron pencils. It took 
a lot of nerve and experience to be able 
to shoot down a man point blank in 
cold blood. 

"Last warning!" cried Fray as they 
thundered down. She raised the pencil 
and aimed directly at Guth's chest. He 
reached the last step and dove in a long 
driving tackle at her knees. His shoul- 
der cracked her so sharply she cried 
out as she tumbled backward against 
the rank of girls behind her. 

The other men held to their feet as 
they charged forward, scattering the 
red and blue furiously. Jinx Cauldwell 
reached down and yanked Guth to his 
feet. 

"Nice going," grunted Jinx. "Come 
on, Guth!" 

Guth grinned, then felt things go 
black as his heart stuttered. It seemed 
that stones knocked in his chest. He 
doubled over, hands pressed to his sides, 
gasping feebly for breath. So soon? 
he thought. The injection should have 
lasted until the afternoon. What had 
happened? 

He stood stock-still, fighting to hold 
on to consciousness. The others had 
paused too, gasping. Guth saw Fray 
and her aides snap the glass and fabric 


LIFE FOR SALE 


179 


masks over their faces with a trium- 
phant air. This, then, was their finish. 

But Fray had doubled over again, 
despite the mask's protection, and was 
clutching at her ribs, a look of bewil- 
derment on her face. That, thought 
Guth in astonishment, was peculiar 
. . . Didn't the masks help after all? 

There was a slamming and a pound- 
ing at the front door and the tearing 
sound of splitting metal. Voices shout- 
ing: "Open in the name of the L.F.S.! " 

Acting quickly, despite the agonized 
labor of keeping his lungs pumping, 
Guth touched Billy's arm and motioned. 
As he crawled off he heard Billy fol- 
lowing him. He led the way back 
through the room and around to a small 
space under the flight of stairs. As they 
squeezed in silently under the steps, 
they were followed by a third crawling 
figure clad in red and blue, a figure in 
a gas mask still brandishing a silver 
pencil menacingly. 

"You'd try to get me if we were the 
last two alive on earth," whispered 
Guth bitterly. Then they lay quiet, con- 
centrating on their respiration, as The 
Salesman's Troopers came storming 
into the house. 

npHE half-hour they were forced to 
spend in hiding comprised thirty 
individual infinities. When at last the 
L.F.S. Troopers had left the house with 
the Scientists and Suffragettes in tow, 
Guth, Billy and Fray crept from their 
cubby-hole. Fray whipped the mask 
from her face. 

"Why didn't it work?" she demanded 
of Billy. 

He shrugged and glanced at Guth. 

"I was afraid this might happen," 
said Guth. "News of our idea must 
have leaked out. The Salesman is a 
smart fella. He's altered his gas to a 
sub-molecular constituency that will 
even filter through fabric . . .The 


same way a virus will filter through 
ordinarily opaque material." 

Fray threw the mask aside feebly. 
Her pale skin looked sallow against the 
flame of her hair, and the light silk 
blouse clung to her breasts moistly. 

"I think I've got a solution to this 
infection," went on Guth, "if we can 
just get to my lab at the Administra- 
tion Building." 

"A man can try!" Billy tried to grin, 
but his lips were blue and he was 
trembling. 

They got to their feet painfully. Guth 
eyed Fray. 

"Don't you think it's time to forget 
politics?" he said gently. "This thing 
is bigger than either of us. Can't we 
bury the hatchet until we've beaten 
The Salesman?" 

"I don't trust you," snapped Fray. 

"Why? I'm reasonably honest." 

"Honest enough to kiss me?" Fray 
gave him a scornful glance. "When you 
knew about Steve and myself. I thought 
Steve was a friend of yours." 

"Oh," said Guth. He couldn't ex- 
plain that when a girl is beautiful she 
makes one forget about friendship and 
loyalty. "Yes, Steve's a friend. I could 
say I'm sorry . . . but I'm not. I'll 
ask you a question. Steve and yourself 
... is that for keeps? Are you asking 
me to respect an engagement?" 

Fray's eyes lowered and she refused 
to answer. 

"That's all I want to know," said 
Guth soberly, "and I don't think there's 
any doubt about your answer. Now 
. . . what do you say?" 

He held out his hand. Fray looked 
at him stubbornly and at last took his 
hand and shook it coldly. 

"It goes against the grain," she said. 
"I hate you and distrust you. I despise 
everything you stand for . . . But I'll 
join forces temporarily. You can count 
on me." 


180 


AMAZING STORIES 


"That's all I'm asking for," smiled 
Guth. 

They stumbled to the street and 
paused to look out at the Hudson, blue 
sparkling in the morning sun. But the 
city streets were again filled with pain- 
wracked, sobbing people, victims of the 
new blast of sub-molecular gas. 

All because of us, thought Guth. The 
Salesman tortures millions to make sure 
our gas masks won't help. 

They followed the sickly stream of 
victims until they came at last to a 
White Helio. It stood in an open lawn 
of the long park that snaked along the 
site of what had once been ancient 
Broadway. A glance showed Guth that 
they were at mid-town. Fray's head- 
quarters had been halfway between the 
Administration and Central Buildings. 

pRAY took the injection first. She 
arose and stood to one side of the 
Helio Cabin as Billy Freeman seated 
himself anxiously. His flanks were 
heaving, his hands pressed to his ribs. 
It seemed to Guth that Billy mightn't 
hold out much longer. 

"No," said the Clerk curtly to Free- 
man, "None for you." 
"Why not?" 

"I said none for you." The Clerk 
beckoned to the Troopers clustered 
around the safe. 

"But I've paid," said Freeman. 

"Get out!" snapped the Clerk. He 
held a sheaf of cards in his hand. Guth 
could see pictures on the cards. Shots 
of Billy, Jinx Cauldwell, himself . . . 
the entire staff. A rogues' gallery. Or, 
better still, like the lists of counterfeit 
bill numbers the treasury sent to shop 
keepers. 

"Damn you," swore Freeman, strug- 
gling to his feet. "You dirty swine!" 

He tried to plunge past the Clerk 
toward the shelves of antidote. A 
Trooper laughed, caught the reeling 


Billy by the scruff of his neck, and 
cuffed him across the face. Guth trem- 
bled with the effort of holding back. 
He knew it was senseless to make a 
fight of it in his weakened condition. 
He caught Fray's eyes and motioned 
with his head. 

"Come on," he said, grasping Free- 
man's arm. "Let's get outside." He 
eased the half-fainting man out of the 
White Helio. Fray joined them and 
they staggered across the lawn. The 
guffaws of the troopers sounded behind 
them. 

"Don't you see," said Guth. "That's 
the Salesman's reprisal against us for 
not obeying his orders. That's what 
the emissary meant when he said 'Obey 
or take the consequences'." 

Billy nodded in dumb misery. 

"But I don't understand," said Fray. 
"Why didn't they try to capture us 
... the way the others did an hour 
ago?" 

"You've answered it yourself," re- 
turned Guth. " 'An hour ago.' That was 
a special squad that came after us. The 
regular Troopers probably haven't been 
tipped off yet to bring us in. But they 
will. That's why I hurried out of the 
Helio; that's why we've got to get to 
my lab . . . quick!" 

They staggered hurriedly down to- 
ward the Administration Building with 
Fray between the two crooked men, 
vainly attempting to support their 
weight on her slim shoulders. But they 
bogged down under the strain of walk- 
ing rapidly and concentrating on keep- 
ing their lungs going. They were forced 
to rest often. 

The new gas attack had broken down 
what little communications that re- 
mained to Scienticity. The underground 
and surface transportation had failed 
altogether. There was not a gyrocab 
to be seen anywhere. 

A quarter of a mile from their goal 


LIFE FOR SALE 


181 


they passed an empty lingerie shop. 
Guth straightened slightly when he 
caught sight of it, snapped his fingers 
and smiled. He left the others and 
vanished for some time into the vacant 
open store. When he returned he clasped 
a bulky, roughly done package under 
his arm. Shaking his head to their mute 
inquiries, he forced them to struggle 
on down town. 

The Administration Building was 
empty when they arrived, an hour later, 
and they rushed immediately to Guth's 
lab adjoining his office. Fray looked 
around curiously at the lathe's and the 
neat racks of tools. 

"Engineering," explained Guth short- 
ly. "Dynamics was my department be- 
fore I became Chief of Scienticity. Now 
I think engineering's going to be our 
salvation." 

T TF, collected apparatus at one of the 
benches and got swiftly to work. 
The package he had brought with him 
he unwrapped and placed close beside 
him. 

"I'll have to be brief," he said as he 
worked. "There isn't much time. The 
Troopers are propably combing the city 
for us at this minute. Naturally my 
office'll be the first place they search." 

Guth selected two sheets of silvery 
spring steel from a locker. They were 
a foot wide, each, and five feet long. 
They glittered like metal snakes when 
he whipped them about experimentally. 

"This gas," he went on almost ab- 
sently, "has not attacked our lungs di- 
rectly. It's paralysed the nerve centers 
in the medulla that stimulate the in- 
voluntary muscles of respiration and 
posture. That's why we must remem- 
ber to breathe and remember to stand 
erect." 

"So?" queried Billy. 

"So if we can keep the lungs going 
mechanically, we've nothing more to 


fear. Right?" Guth turned. In his 
hands he displayed two odd garments. 
Billy stared. Fray laughed. 

"Oh Lord!" she said. "Corsets!" 

"Right." Guth beamed. "Inside 
each corset is a strip of spring steel that 
binds firmly around the ribs. A small 
spring motor contracts the spring fifteen 
times to the minute (that's about the 
normal respiration rate), and the spring 
produces artificial respiration. Fray, 
you'd better lace us up." 

Despite the seriousness of the situa- 
tion she was forced to laugh as she 
tugged and bound the corsets tight. A 
small wheel protruded under the right 
arm of each of the men. That, Guth 
explained, was for rewinding the motor. 

"At least now you'll have to admit 
women are good for something," smiled 
Fray when she had finished lacing them 
into the tight fitting garments. 

Guth paused and felt the steel strip 
around his ribs alternately tighten and 
relax as the motor whirred. It worked 
well, for an improvised job. His lungs 
were sucking in air without conscious 
direction. 

"I'll admit a lot more than that," he 
said seriously. "Don't think I under- 
estimate women, Fray. Maybe you've 
just failed to see the humor of the situa- 
tion all along." 

She stared at him a moment, then 
her vivid features broke into a lovely 
smile. 

"Perhaps I have," she said. 

At that moment they heard steps 
coming up the stairs of the Administra- 
tion Building. Guth held up a warning 
hand. 

The two men hastily threw their 
tunics over the respirators and then 
crept into Guth's office to await the un- 
known. 

"Troopers," hissed Billy. 

The steps came slowly to the head 
of the stairs, paused, then moved to the 


182 


AMAZING STORIES 


office door. In silence they watched the 
heavy steel knob turn and then the 
high door push in. Fray poised her 
silver pencil. The door gaped wide to 
reveal the figure of Steve Emory. 

He stared at them, his mouth droop- 
ing, then slowly oozed to the floor. His 
head clanged on the metal. 

UTH and Billy got him to a chair 
while Fray darted inside for water. 
When they had at last brought him 
back to consciousness he looked around 
and sighed. 

"Thanks," he said, pushing away the 
glass, "you don't know how glad I am 
to be back here." 

"You've had a tough time, fella," 
said Billy. "Better take it easy a 
while." 

"No. . . ." Emory struggled up out 
of the chair. "No. ... I didn't fight 
my way back here just to rest. Listen, 
things are pretty desperate for us. The 
Salesman's been drilling his Troopers. 
He's got them policing the streets. He's 
blackmailed every official in the city, 
threatening to withhold his antidote. 
Communications are down . . . the 
earth is like a body without a head! " 

"And what's more," added Guth 
grimly, "the world can't even send help 
to us. No sooner does a healthy man 
enter the gas area than he too suc- 
cumbs. . . ." 

"Look," said Emory. "I broke out of 
the Central Building. I got away from 
the Troopers and came here. If there's 
a way out, there ought to be a way back 
in. Maybe we can locate The Sales- 
man's gas plant and blast it to hell?" 

"Sure . . . we're all set," soothed 
Guth, "but how about you? We haven't 
the time to make another respirator." 

After they had explained their safe- 
guard to Emory, he shook his head. 
"You're right," he said. "There isn't 
time. Besides, I managed to get an in- 


jection after I escaped. Fray and I 
have twenty hours immunity. That 
ought to be enough. . . ." 

"Okay," answered Guth. He looked 
tensely at Fray, hating to place her in 
danger again. But he knew there was 
no way of leaving her behind. "We'll 
try and take care of each other, eh?" 

It was delicate work, sneaking 
through the streets. Patrols of L.F.S. 
Troopers were on continual duty, 
trampling up and back the avenues, 
guarding key stations of the under- 
ground, surface and overhead transpor- 
tation systems. The skyways and 
streets were strangely hushed, but for 
the stern clangor of the metal shod 
shoes. 

They located an abandoned Helio 
and boarded it, just managing to 
squeeze four inside the tiny cabin. 
Swooping and threading their way 
through the concealing towers of the 
skyscrapers, they managed to avoid the 
White Helios of The Salesman and get 
to Fray's headquarters overlooking the 
Hudson. 

There, they crept inside and waited 
while Fray slipped to a concealed safe 
and withdrew three silver pencils, dupli- 
cates of the weapon she carried. 

"Here," she said as she handed one 
to Guth. "I thought I'd be using this 
against you. . . . Never thought I'd 
willingly hand over my trump card to 
my arch-enemy." 

"Never an enemy, Fray," he said, 
taking her hand. "If we get out of this 
mess . . . you'll see." 

npHEY stood for a moment eyeing 
each other, totally oblivious of 
Steve's presence. Fray started to smile 
at him, then shook her head impatiently 
and strode back to the plane. In silence 
the others followed and presently, after 
ten minute's cautious flight and recon- 
noiter, brought the ship down alongside 


LIFE FOR SALE 


188 


the Ancient Weather Tower. 

Steve Emory led them at a fast trot 
around to the rear of the Central Build- 
ing. The streets were empty and silent 
behind the structure, and there was 
only the pungent, stinging odor of am- 
monia. Emory pointed to a small win- 
dow, five feet over their heads, its lower 
sash gone. 

Silently they boosted Emory up. 
Then he reached down and, one by 
one, hauled them kicking and strug- 
gling up. They were in a small store- 
room cluttered with crystal wall panes 
stacked against the walls. Emory tip- 
toed to the door, thrust it open, and 
stepped through, motioning them to 
follow. 

He led them through a wide low- 
ceilinged hallway that seemed to twine 
aimlessly through the building until at 
last they came to the elevator shafts 
around which looped the broad ascend- 
ing circles of frosted crystal stairs. The 
odor of ammonia was stronger and there 
was a strange sensation of heat gusting 
up. 

"We ought to head down," whispered 
Guth. "Heat and ammonia vapors. . . . 
They point toward the manufacturing 
plant." 

"Below is where I came from," said 
Emory. "It's even hotter and smellier 
down there." 

They dropped down the stairs, two 
nights of them, to a cellar. There was 
no illumination and they fumbled along 
in semi-darkness. The stench of am- 
monia burned stronger and they felt 
the heat piling up. Then the steps nar- 
rowed to a dark sloping tunnel and they 
descended another two nights through 
the pitch blackness in huddled single 
file. 

The sub-cellar, fifty feet beneath 
the surface, was hideously hot ... so 
hot that they gasped for breath, and 
then only sucked in the biting ammonia 


fumes. It was impossible to see any- 
thing, but as they clustered close to- 
gether, they discerned the faint hum of 
machinery. Slowly, with the others 
treading close behind him, Guth groped 
through the blackness in the direction 
of the sound. 

The crash of gongs that banged and 
clanged through the sub-cellar preceded 
the blinding light by only a split second. 
In an instant, they were staggering in 
brilliant white arc radiations that 
blinded them as completely as the dark- 
ness had. 

"Alarm!" shouted Guth. "For God's 
sake, let's get . . ." 

He turned and smashed blindly 
against Billy behind him, meanwhile 
clawing for his silver pencil. The cellar 
reverberated with the shriek of bells. 

And it was only a full five seconds 
later, when his eyes had cleared, that 
Guth was able to see to the depths of 
the cellar wall and perceive the solid 
rands of L.F.S. Troopers surround- 
ing them. And only faintly above the 
reverberations of the dimming gongs 
could he hear a voice that laughed 
softly. 

"Very nice indeed. The prettiest 
trap I've ever set in all my career." 

Guth turned and stared uncertainly. 

"You?" he said slowly. "You're The 
Salesman?" 

"At your service," said Steve Emory. 

rj'MORY stopped the last two Troop- 
ers to leave the small cell. 

"These men," he said calmly, "each 
have artificial respirators on, under 
their tunics. Remove them." 

Guth and Billy could only stand sub- 
missively before the nose of the silver 
neuron pencil Emory held, while the 
guards stripped them. Instantly, the 
steel flexion gone, they were forced to 
devote all their consciousness to breath- 
ing. 


AMAZINS STORIES 


Emory stood there, looking at the 
two men and the girl. 

"Well," he said smoothly, "we've 
come a long way, haven't we? Here 
you've been squabbling endlessly over 
votes for women. ... It may make 
you feel better to know that under my 
system, there won't be votes for any- 
one. I'll do all the deciding." 

"Go to hell, Emory," gasped Guth. 

"You swine ! " spat Fray. "With all 
your smooth talk and your gay romanc- 
ing. You're vile . . . disgusting. . . . 
Oh, I can't find the words to describe 
you. If only I'd known!" 

"But you didn't know," laughed Em- 
ory, "and that's what counts in the long 
run. Really, Fray, you made an excel- 
lent dupe. After I'd spurred you on to 
make a row about women's suffrage 
your agitations made a wonderful 
screen for my own preparations." 

Guth stared at Fray. 

"Emory put you up to it?" he asked. 
"The Suffragettes was his idea?" 

Fray nodded miserably. 

"And a splendid idea too," grinned 
Emory. "Fray attracted all the atten- 
tion while I worked secretly without 
hindrance. I expect to control Scien- 
ticity within another six hours, and with 
the new variant of our gas apparatus 
... I shall have the United Nations 
in my grasp before the end of the 
month." 

"And that variant is?" 

"You've been so damned clever up 
to now," snarled Emory. "Suppose you 
figure it out for yourself. Pleasant 
dreams!" The cell door slammed and 
bolted behind him. 

The prisoners lay silently in the 
darkness for a few moments until their 
eyes accommodated. They were in a 
cell that was perhaps ten feet square. 
In the distance they could hear the 
whine and hum of gas generators, and 
occasionally the murmur of voices. It 


seemed to Guth that he could hear the 
high tones of women speaking, and he 
thought it likely that the other captives 
were caged somewhere nearby. 

"I should have known," groaned 
Billy. "Now I realize how many cock- 
and-bull stories he told. That gag about 
watching the Central Building all night 
... He was probably down here alter- 
ing his gas to offset our masks." 

"I'm guilty too," said Guth. "I should 
have realized he was lying when he said 
he managed to get an injection after 
he escaped. Every White Helio Clerk 
had pictures of the entire Staff. None 
of us could have gotten a shot. And 
that phoney faint of his when he stum- 
bled over us in my office . . . And 
that gag of trying to bribe his own 
man . . . Oh, I could kick myself!" 

"How about me?" whispered Fray. 
"I feel like such a God-awful fool!" 

Guth heard her sobbing softly. He 
reached out and patted her shoulder 
helplessly. He felt weak and ineffec- 
tual. Everything seemed helpless. 

JT was hot and enervating in the cell. 

Guth was exhausted from the efforts 
of the preceding day and night. All he 
wanted was to rest a while and gather 
little strength. He lay quietly, along- 
side Fray, and failed to realize his dan- 
ger until he drowsed and the sudden 
pause of his breathing awakened him 
in a panic. 

He started up in terror, crawled to 
his feet and kicked Billy. 

"Get up," he said tensely, "get up, 
Billy ... if you want to stay alive!" 

"Lemme rest awhile," protested 
Freeman. The heat was sapping him 
too. 

"Wake up and keep your lungs 
pumping," insisted Guth. "It's death 
to fall asleep!" He turned to Fray, 
staring wide-eyed in the gloom. "Help 
me get him up!" 


LIFE FOR SALE 


185 


They managed to get Freeman to 
his feet, and together the two men, 
half-supported by Fray, paced the 
length of the cell. 

"Talk . . . sing . . . shout . . . 
anything!" commanded Guth. "You've 
got to keep us awake, Fray!" 

As she sang and talked they passed 
and repassed the length of the tiny 
room, each time feeling the gush of air 
from the ventilator blow across their 
faces. It became almost automatic. 
Guth could count the number of paces 
up to the ventilator, the turn, and then 
the ventilator again on their way back. 

"It's no use," groaned Guth, "He'll 
fall asleep on his feet. Lay him down." 

They lay Billy on his face. Guth 
kneeled at his hips, placed his palms 
above the small of Billy's back and 
began a slow artificial respiration in 
time with his own forced breathing. 
As he pumped air in and out of Billy's 
lungs, the exhausted man slept. 

At last Guth gave up in exhaustion. 
Motioning Fray to take his place, he 
arose and tottered around the cell. He 
went to the ventilator and placed his 
face in the stream of cool air gushing 
in. The heat was knocking him out too, 
and only the fresh air could keep him 
awake. He had to stay awake, for Fray 
could never administer to both of them. 

Thank God for the ventilator, 
though. Otherwise the air in the cell 
would be exhausted and then . . . 

"Oh God!" whispered Guth. "If only 
I'm right." 

He crawled to Billy and kicked and 
shook him awake. 

"Take off your clothes," he said. He 
looked bleakly at Fray. "You too, Fray, 
as much as you can spare." 

In fevered silence they stripped off 
their tunics and handed them to Guth. 
He jammed the cloth tightly into the 
ventilator mouth, then crawled to the 
door and stuffed the remainder into the 


cracks. Returning to the middle of the 
cell, he fumbled in his pockets and 
withdrew a small petrol lighter. He 
kindled the flame and nursed it care- 
fully. 

"We've got to exhaust the air," he ex- 
plained hurriedly, "and increase the 
CO. content. I've just remembered 
that if you inhale a large percentage of 
Carbon Dioxide it excites the respira- 
tion nerve center in the medulla. May- 
be if we inhale enough we'll be able to 
offset the effects of Emory's Nitrogen 
gas. I have a hunch he used a COj 
compound in his antidote. Go on, you 
two, breathe like hell!" 

T^HEY inhaled and exhaled furiously. 

Guth nursed his petrol lamp until it 
heated and scorched his fingers. Fray 
produced a packet of matches and 
burned them, one by one, down to the 
very ends. There was almost a thou- 
sand cubic feet of air space in that small 
cell. It would take an enormous amount 
of work to exhaust it. 

Hours later they heard the tramp of 
footsteps coming through the cellars 
toward their prison. Guth, naked but 
for a pair of trunks, his body gleaming 
with sweat, looked around and hastily 
extinguished the petrol flame. 

"If the Trooper comes in," he said, 
"we'll have to pray he doesn't make us 
take our clothes down from the 
vent . . ." 

"Guth!" whispered Fray excitedly. 
"It's taken. Don't you realize?" 

Suddenly Guth discovered that he 
was breathing without volition. A nod 
from Billy confirmed this. 

"All right," he said. "I don't know 
how long this stimulation will last . . . 
but we'll make a fight of it." 

They sprawled in apparent helpless- 
ness on the floor as the guard unbolted 
the door and swung it in. A dim light 
from the cellar corridor illuminated the 


186 


AMAZING STORIES 


cell. The Trooper carried a rough tray 
with food piled on it. 

He strode into the cell, openly con- 
temptuous of the helpless prisoners. 
But as he bent to set the tray on the 
floor, Guth slid forward swiftly and 
leaped to the guard's shoulders. As the 
man staggered back and swung around 
with an oath, Guth poised himself and 
brought his big fist savagely against the 
man's jaw. The guard barely grunted 
as he sagged. They caught him and 
lowered him silently to the floor. 

Snatching up the Chron-gun from the 
Guard's belt, Guth motioned to the 
others and slipped through the cell door. 
They followed without waiting to don 
their clothes, and found themselves in a 
long corridor, lit intermittently by tiny 
crypton tubes. 

Guth led them to the right, reached 
a door at the end of the corridor and 
opened it a slit. It revealed the large 
subcellar where they had been trapped 
hours before. An L.F.S. Trooper paced 
up and back leisurely, obviously on sen- 
try-duty. 

Guth waited patiently, despite the 
fear in his mind that the carbon dioxide 
stimulus would wear off at any moment. 
But he knew that the Trooper's saunter 
would eventually bring him within silent 
striking distance. 

And at last the man wandered aim- 
lessly toward the door. He paused six 
feet distant, whistling through his teeth, 
then turned. Guth leaped forward. 
The Guard pivoted at the creak of the 
yawning door and at that moment 
Guth's Chron-gun crashed down. 

"Come on!" snapped Guth. 

DARKLY waiting for Billy to pick up 
the second Chron-gun, he sprinted 
across the cellar and thrust open the 
far door. There was a narrow black 
ramp leading down, deep into the earth. 
When they reached bottom they dis- 


covered a large brilliantly lit office. 
Desk, chairs, papers; and lab smocks 
and tunics hung on the wall next to a 
curtained archway. 

Guth darted to the arch, swept aside 
the curtain and peered through. 

"Listen, Billy," he said. "Go back 
the way we came. When you get to our 
cell, keep on left along the corridor and 
I'm positive you'll find the rest of our 
people locked up there. Then follow us 
back here, and through that archway." 
Guth pointed to the recess alongside 
the coat rack. "That must lead to the 
gas plant. Fray and I will go ahead to 
reconnoiter, but we'll need all the help 
you can bring!" 

"Right!" exclaimed Billy. He darted 
back up the ramp. 

Guth and Fray passed through the 
archway, carefully replacing the ace- 
tate curtain behind them. They were 
in a long straight tunnel. It was hotter 
than a blast furnace and the sting of 
ammonia was overpowering. 

The tunnel seemed endless. It ran, 
straight as a hollow arrow, through the 
earth. The walls and ceiling were a 
smooth black glass that looked like ob- 
sidian, and set in the apex of the low 
overhead arch was a long straight cryp- 
ton tube that illuminated the darkness 
dimly and stretched far ahead like a 
pastel pencil line. 

Abruptly the tunnel opened into a 
small crypt, walled with rugged blocks 
of obsidian. The crypt was round, and 
across the floor was a flight of three 
narrow steps, a landing and a giant 
circle of steel. The heat was thunder- 
ous and behind the steel port they could 
hear the crashing roar of machinery. 

Guth walked cautiously to the door. 
It was unlocked. He thrust it open to 
a slit, peered, then opened it enough to 
let himself and Fray slip through. They 
shut it behind them and stared at the 
laboratory. 


LIFE FOR SALE 


187 


It was built under the Ancient 
Weather Tower, hollowed out of the 
living rock underneath. A vast round 
chamber, forty feet in diameter, it tow- 
ered upward over two hundred feet, full 
into the Weather Tower itself. Its 
height was interlaced by gleaming cat- 
walks that ran from wall to wall at ten 
foot levels, and a narrow staircase spi- 
ralled dizzily up the circumference into 
the dim heights. Guth and Fray 
crouched back as they saw figures in 
white lab smocks clustered up on the 
cat-walks. 

'HPHE floor on which they stood sup- 
ported four enormous atomic-cy- 
clones that looked like gleaming steel 
snails. From the crest of each a giant 
crystal shaft emerged. Thirty feet 
above, the shafts merged into a maze of 
intricate crystal work. Lofting up over 
the nucleus of intermeshing crystal, a 
fractionating column zoomed into the 
heights. 

The four shafts each bubbled up a 
brilliant liquid . . . crimson, cobalt, 
emerald and silver . . . and all liquids 
were merging in a blaze of sparkling ra- 
diance. The resultant gas that tinkled 
up through the beads of the fractionat- 
ing column glowed like sparks over a 
fire. 

"There's where the ammonia is com- 
ing from," said Guth, his mouth close to 
Fray's ear. He pointed to a ten-foot 
sphere between the steel-snail cyclones. 
It smoked with a milky vapor. 

A shout echoed down, over the roar 
of the machinery. Guth lifted the 
Chron-gun and waited tensely. Figures 
began descending the spiral stairs, clat- 
tering faintly. From the far side of the 
laboratory a man in a white lab smock 
appeared, weaving in and out between 
the apparatus that dwarfed him. 

It was Emory. 

He came up and jarred to a halt at 


the sight of Guth. His jaw dropped. 

"Tell them to cut off the apparatus ! " 
yelled Guth. He levelled the Chron- 
gun at Emory's chest. 

Emory stared for another second, 
then raised his arm slowly and waved. 
The drone died away in stages until at 
last the laboratory roared with silence. 
Emory never took his eyes from Guth's 
face. His assistants came down the 
stairs, one by one, and clustered behind 
him, gaping. Guth thought he recog- 
nized some of them from Emory's de- 
partment. 

"Well . . ." Guth smiled mirthlessly. 
"We certainly have come a long way, 
haven't we?" 

Emory didn't answer. Guth swept 
the Chron-gun in a slight arc that in- 
cluded the rest of the men. 

"Now," he continued, "we're going to 
stand here, just as we are, and wait for 
my friends to arrive. I don't know what 
keeps me from dropping you murderers 
right now. I wish one of you would 
try something . . . just to give me the 
excuse." 

For a moment he thought Fray had 
begun to hum a tune. 

Then he realized she had moaned 
slightly. He twisted his head in aston- 
ishment to see her crumple against him, 
clutching at her heart in an agonized 
way that Guth knew meant the failure 
of the antidote. Instinctively, he bent 
to support her, then twisted in quick 
awareness of his position. But Emory's 
men had already leaped forward. 

Guth blasted a shot at the foremost, 
and he went down with a cough. Be- 
fore Guth could press the firing stud 
again, the others vaulted the shudder- 
ing body and were on top of him. He 
lashed out frenziedly and crushed the 
Chron-gun against a temple. 

His arm tangled in the skirt of a 
smock and before he could free it, it 
was pinioned. He lurched violently 


188 


AMAZING STORIES 


to shake loose and drove his left fist 
into a distorted face. It dissolved into 
a red pulp, but a great bear-like man 
wrapped his arms around Guth's elbow 
and held. 

npHERE was no sound in the lab but 
the pant and sob of fighting men. 
Then Guth heard Emory rap out: "Get 
his legs, you two!" and his feet were 
yanked from under him. As he was 
swept up, he broke his right arm free 
and scooped up the Chron-gun from 
the floor. He levelled it at Emory. 

Then blackness swept over him. 
Guth felt stones begin to rumble in his 
chest, and he knew that the CO, had 
worn off. The gun dropped from his 
inert fingers. He sobbed in the effort 
to fill his lungs with air and drive back 
the impending coma. 

They tossed him to the floor along- 
side a reagent table, with his head al- 
most in Fray's lap. She, too, was gasp- 
ing and fighting to hold on to life. 
Emory stood over them, flipping the 
Chron-gun in his hand. He smiled 
malevolently, then started as he heard 
the sound of footsteps thundering out- 
side, coming down the tunnel. 

"Lock the door, quick!" barked 
Emory. He looked at Guth as the bolt 
fell into place. "Your rescuing friends, 
no doubt. Well, we'll give them a lit- 
tle party. Have you figured out the 
new development of our apparatus 
yet?" 

Guth compressed his lips and 
searched around desperately for an 
opening. 

"I'll tell you," went on Emory, "so 
you can appreciate it. A nitrogen gas 
... we spray it, like a liquid, it's so 
heavy. Naturally we're all immunized, 
but you're not. One whiff and the 
blood carries a corrosive that destroys 
every neuron in the body. Leaves the 
target a living mass of protoplasm 


. . ." Emory paused and bowed to 
Fray. "Your own neuron pencil gave 
us the final clue, darling. Thanks very 
much." 

The steps outside rumbled up the 
door and slammed against it. It shook 
under a barrage of knocks. Voices 
shouted faintly. Guth wanted to yell 
a warning, but his heart was knocking 
under the strain and his lungs refused 
to take in enough wind for a shout. 

Emory ran to his apparatus and sig- 
naled. The roar of the cyclones 
crowded everything else out of Guth's 
ears. A long flexible glass hose was 
run from the interior of the apparatus 
to a small pump of chrome and copper. 
The gleaming nozzle was aimed at the 
door and Emory nodded to one of the 
assistants. The man grinned and 
started toward the door. 

Guth looked around frantically for 
anything to signal with. If he could 
just throw something at the door to 
land with a smash . . . that might 
warn Billy and the others. He glanced 
up and saw the tall reagent jugs stand- 
ing on the table over his head. 

He struggled to raise himself but 
tottered weakly; then he gave Fray a 
despairing look. She raised her knees 
slowly, just enough to brace Guth. His 
eyes lofted like a slow elevator and at 
last reached the level of the table. And 
then he saw hope. 

Iodine! Five litres of iodine. 

Iodine and ammonia . . . and the 
room was hot! 

Hot and bright with light!* 

Emory saw him just as his trembling 


* When liquid iodine is mixed with ammonia, 
under the influence of heat and brilliant light, it 
forms a chemical combination that is singularly 
unstable, and inevitably results in an explosion of 
terrific violence. What Guth did here was a sim- 
ple trick that many an amateur chemist has re- 
gretted performing in the basement — and one you 
should not try to duplicate, even if you don't be- 
lieve us ! — Ed. 


LIFE FOR SALE 


189 


hands reached the bottle. He leaped 
from behind the gas sprayer with a 
shout and plunged toward Guth. 

Guth managed to swing around, the 
bottle cradled in his arms, his back 
braced against the table-edge. As Em- 
ory came up to him, he summoned 
every erg of energy to raise a leg and 
drive his heel into Emory's stomach. 

And as the man staggered back with 
a hoarse cry, Guth raised the heavy 
bottle high and flung it crashing across 
the laboratory, full into the great 
sphere of ammonia. Then he dropped 
his body over Fray. 

There was a shattering explosionl 

✓"•UTH WILDER awoke and tried 
to scrape away the dark. Eyes 
out of focus, he made out the shattered 
remains of the laboratory ; then dimly, 
he realized that Billy Freeman was 
kneeling over him, half-naked and grin- 
ning like the Cheshire cat. 

"How long have I been out?" 

"Maybe five minutes . . . maybe 
ten. We got to you just in time. We 
were trying to blast open the door with 
our Chronnies when the explosion blew 
it out in our faces." 

"Ten minutes?" echoed Guth. 

"Yeh . . . We had to use artificial 
respiration on the two of you until I 
could get the hypos ready. I had the 
antidote with me and shot you and 
Fray as quick as I could. It's peculiar 
stuff . . . Frosty Adamson says it's 
probably di-nitro-carbonate . . ." 

"Never mind Frosty," said Guth im- 
patiently. "How'd you get the stuff?" 

"Oh, simple. When I went back to 
look for the others I stumbled on Em- 
ory's pharmaceutical storeroom. There 
were thousands of hypos and ampules. 
He must have been preparing this over- 
throw for years. When I located the 
other people I shot them up and 
brought along a little for you." 


"Thanks, pal," said Guth fervently. 
He sat up and felt gingerly at the torn 
cuts over his body. 

"Emory?" he asked. 

"He's dead. Explosion got him and 
half the crew. The place is a smith- 
ereeno. What blew up, and how?" 

Guth grinned. "I took a wild chance 
and it worked. I heaved liquid iodine 
into ammonia. Get it? Hot room, 
bright lights . . ." 

"Yeh," said Freeman, "but . . ." 

But Guth wasn't listening any more, 
for Fray had struggled up weakly 
alongside him. He put an arm around 
her and looked at her vivid features. 

"Truce?" he said softly. "Bury the 
hatchet forever . . . Smoke a peace 
pipe, and suchlike?" 

"Maybe we've both been wrong," 
said Fray. Her face was lovely despite 
the lines of fatigue. "I ... I know 
I've acted like a fool in some ways." 

"Maybe we've both been a little fool- 
ish," smiled Guth. He felt the scent 
of her breath on his cheek. He sat 
amid the debris of the broken labora- 
tory, close beside her, and remembered 
again that she was the loveliest thing 
he had ever seen, and that a man 
couldn't build his whole life around sci- 
ence and Scienticity. 

"The last time I kissed you," he said, 
"Holy Hell broke loose. Do you think 
it's safe this time?"' 

"A man could try," answered Fray. 

The crowd in the smashed laboratory 
stared silently. Women in soiled red 
and blue uniforms; short girls, tall 
girls, incredulous girls. Men in tat- 
tered Staff tunics; short men, tall men, 
incredulous men. 

"Nice work I " drawled Jinx. 

"Couldn't do better myself," grinned 
Frosty Adamson. 

"I don't know about that," mur- 
mured Billy Freeman. He edged 
around the crowd toward that blonde. 


P. F. COSTELLO 


""11 If Y SON is a worthless, yellow- 
Y/l bellied young scamp!" Bull 
-»-"-»■ Harker thundered. "And it's 
all my fault, y'hear? All my fault!" 

I was sitting in Bull Harker's mag- 
nificently furnished main office as he 
strode up and down the thick carpet, 
his big body jarring the floor with each 
step. Looking at his powerful, dynamic 
features it was easy to understand how 
he had battered and fought his way to 
the supreme control of Interspace 
Transport Co. But it was difficult to 
understand how this man had raised a 
son whose only interest in life seemed 
to be the quantity of Venusian rum he 
could put away at one sitting, and how 
many space ships he could burn out 
every month. 

Every one who worked for Interspace 
knew what a wild young hellion the 
boss' son was. It was also conceded 
that it was just a matter of time before 
the Old Man would lose his patience 
and do something drastic about it. 

This seemed to be that time. While 
I was out on a scheduled run, young 


REHEARSAL 
FOR DANGER 

The idea was to make a man out of young Harker, 
but not with a stunt as real as this one was . . . 



Young Harker lashed out with his fist and hall broke loose 
191 


192 


AMAZING STORIES 


Harker had filled a passenger transport 
with a mob of drunken kids and arced 
off into the void on a pleasure jaunt. 
When he brought the ship back, four 
of its six forward rockets were burned 
to a black crisp. 

Now — the rumor was flitting about 
the Base — the Old" Man was fed up. 
But definitely. 

He had called me in and, as I sat in 
his office watching him stamp up and 
down the carpet, I had an uneasy hunch 
what he had in mind for me. 

He stopped abruptly in front of me 
and glared at me as if I were the cause 
of his trouble. 

"You've been with Interspace 
eighteen years," he said abruptly. 
"You've seen that son of mine turn 
into an insolent, disagreeable, spineless 
scamp in that time. Now what the 
hell's wrong?" 

"You put your finger on it," I said 
grinning. Knowing Bull Harker for 
eighteen years I wasn't afraid of him. 
I think that's what he liked about me. 

"What d'you mean?" he demanded. 

"It's your fault," I said. "You ad- 
mitted that a while ago. There's noth- 
ing wrong with that kid of yours. He's 
just restless and bored because he's 
never had any kind of a job to take 
care of. No responsibilities to put a 
weight on his head. He's wild and care- 
less because he's never had to be other- 
wise. Now if he was to get kicked into 
the world and discover that it was a 
pretty tough place to get along in, he 
might settle down a bit." 

Bull Harker strode to his desk and 
sat down, frowning. Finally a glimmer 
of a grin touched his mouth. 

"I had the same idea," he said, 
"when I called you in here. It was my 
idea for you take the kid with you on 
your next trip to Base Eleven. Eleven, 
as I recall, is still pretty rough and 
unsettled. Out there things might hap- 


pen," he paused and glanced at me 
meaningly before continuing, "things 
might happen that would make him 
appreciate the more serious side of life. 
I wouldn't have to tell you what those 
things might be." 

I kept a perfect poker face. 

"That's right," I said. "You can 
never tell what might happen to a 
young fellow on Eleven. Native trou- 
ble, poisoned food, attacks by space 
pirates. Any of them things might hap- 
pen just like that." 

"I see we understand each other," 
Bull Harker said gruffly. "I've tried 
everything else with that kid, but 
maybe this'll work. If he gets scared 
badly enough it might make him fight. 
That's what I'm hoping for." 

"I can promise you," I said, getting 
to my feet, "that all and several kinds 
of hell will break loose on Eleven when 
we get there." 

"I don't want him hurt, you under- 
stand?" Bull Harker snapped quickly. 
"I'm holding you responsible for that, 
Bill. But give him a thorough going 
over. Maybe there's a real man hiding 
behind that insolent, drunken face of 
his." 

I had my doubts about that, but I 
didn't say so. 

"We'll see," I said. "We surely will 
see." 

A BOUT a week later I was standing 
with Bull Harker next to the In- 
terspace mooring tower. The sleek 
length of my space cruiser was resting 
in the auxiliary rocket tube and I was 
all set for the trip to Eleven. 

There was only one thing missing. 
And that was Bull Harker's son, Dan- 
ny. He was scheduled as my assistant 
and he should have arrived at the moor- 
ing tower long before this, but there 
was not a trace of him. 

"I'll break him in two, myself," Bull 


REHEARSAL FOR DANGER 


193 


Harker roared for the dozenth time. 
' "I told him to be here in time. Does 
he think I'm running a suburban com- 
muter service? Doesn't he know that 
five ships are waiting to use that auxil- 
iary?" 

"If he does," I said, "it isn't bother- 
ing him much," 

For the next ten minutes Bull Har- 
ker panthered back and forth before 
me in a sulphurous silence. Then came 
an interruption. An interruption that 
skyrocketed the Old Man's blood pres- 
sure to the boiling point. 

Through the main gate roared a glis- 
tening, bullet-like land car, headed 
straight for us. It was one of the super- 
powerful types powered with U-235. 
They were too fast almost for anything 
but the clearest stretches, but this one 
was flashing at us at about two hun- 
dred miles an hour, straight across the 
crowded mooring field. It was travel- 
ing too fast for me to recognize the 
occupants, but I knew the car belonged 
to Danny Harker. 

About fifty feet from us the low slung 
car slewed with a protesting scream 
and slid to a shuddering stop not four 
feet from the ramp the Old Man and I 
were standing on. 

In the front seat of the car was 
Danny Harker, a slim, sullen looking 
young fellow with light blonde hair, 
and bloodshot blue eyes. Alongside 
him was a gorgeous redhead, her head 
lolling against his shoulder. In the back 
seat were two more girls, asleep. 

All of them reeked of Venusian rum, 
and plenty of it. 

"You crazy fool!" Bull Harker 
grated. "Where have you been? And 
who are these girls?" 

Danny Harker looked at the girls 
and shrugged. 

"I don't know," he muttered. "Met 
'em somewhere last night, I guess. All 
got drunk. Farewell party for promi- 


nent young no-good." 

Bull Harker opened his mouth, but 
I tapped him on the arm and shook my 
head. It wouldn't do any good to read 
the riot act to the young kid now. In 
his condition it would only make him 
more resentful. 

"Come on, Danny," I said quietly. 
"Let's get started." 

He looked up at me sourly, then 
climbed out of his car. 

"Okay, wet nurse," he grumbled. 

We said goodbye briefly and climbed 
into my ship. The kid was sullenly 
silent, but when I cut in the power and 
we zoomed up and out of the tube, he 
gasped and turned slightly green. I 
thought he would be sick, but by the 
time we whizzed out of Earth's atmos- 
phere into the void, some color was 
seeping back into his face. I set the 
controls for Eleven, threw a careless 
glance at the visa-screen to check the 
course, then relaxed against the back 
of my pilot's chair. 

"We're going to have a great time 
on Eleven," I said, with what I hoped 
was a hearty ring in my voice. 

The kid looked at me sourly, then 
closed his eyes and leaned his head 
against the duraUoy wall of the control 
room. 

"Isn't that just ducky," he said sar- 
castically. 
Then he went to sleep. 

AS WE rocketed on through the 
blackness I did a little speculating 
on my somewhat disagreeable charge. 
In spite of his sullenness and rotten 
manners, I felt that he couldn't be all 
bad. No son of Bull Harker could be. 
But the kid had led a pampered, lazy 
existence, and you could hardly blame 
him for developing into a spoiled, soft 
brat. 

I decided grimly there would be noth- 
ing soft or easy about his stay with me 


194 


AMAZING STORIES 


on Eleven. As a rule I'm against the 
rough treatment generally handed to 
greenhorns, but this was a case where 
I would have no scruples. 

I was so busy with my thoughts that 
I hadn't kept an eye on the screen be- 
fore him. Now, when I glanced at it 
perfunctorily, I saw that a small black 
dot had appeared in the right top cor- 
ner. 

Straightening up I watched the dot 
interestedly. It grew in size until finally 
I could see the miniature outlines of a 
dead black space ship, flashing along 
behind me. It was fitted with atomic 
cannons and this bothered me. Pas- 
senger and freight ships were not usu- 
ally armed, and I couldn't see any mili- 
tary insignia on the ship behind me to 
account for the heavy arms it carried. 

The strange ship following me sud- 
denly disappeared from the front 
screen. I shot a worried glance at the 
side screen and saw that it had ap- 
peared there. Now it was coming up 
on my side, flanking me with its su- 
perior speed. 

I didn't like it at all. 

I tried more speed, but it didn't help. 
The black ship kept up, even pulled a 
little ahead of me. It was only about 
eighteen thousand miles from me now, 
and any ship that creeps up that close 
to another in the limitless expanses of 
the void does it with a reason. 

What reason? I asked myself. 

I soon found out. From the fore 
atomic cannon of the black ship a puff 
of smoke appeared, and simultaneously 
an orange bolt of scorching flame 
streaked across the front of my ship. 

So that was their game! Obviously 
the black ship was one of the fast dis- 
appearing freebooters that preyed on 
shipping in the void. The blast from 
the cannon had been a signal for me 
to cut my speed to 460/460 which was 
the speed established by the Space Fed- 


eration for inter-locking in the void.* 
That meant they intended to board us. 

I shook the kid roughly, until he 
blinked his eyes and straightened in 
his chair. 

"What's the big idea?" he grumbled. 

"Maybe trouble," I said briefly. 
Even then I was able to appreciate 
something of the irony of the situation. 
Bull Harker had instructed me to cre- 
ate some phony trouble for the kid, 
and here was the real thing, dangerous 
and on the level. 

The kid glanced up at the side screen, 
studied the black ship carelessly. 

"What's up?" he asked yawning. 

"We're going to be boarded," I an- 
swered tersely. I had already cut my 
speed to 460/460. There was nothing 
else I could do. "We aren't carrying 
anything valuable," I went on, "so I 
can't figure out why we're being 
stopped. Maybe they'll let us go after 
a search." 

"And maybe not," the kid said care- 
lessly. He didn't seem to be scared, 
just vaguely interested in what was 
going on. It was too soon though to 
know how he'd react when things got 
tough. 

He leaned back in his scat then and 
closed his eyes. 

"Don't forget to wake me up when 
they get here," he murmured drowsily. 
"I'm kind of interested in meeting a 
real live pirate." 

Then, to my complete surprise, he 
dozed off again. 

"T'LL wake you," I muttered grimly. 
I strode into the body of the ship 


*This means simply that a set speed of 460 
miles per minute was indicated for direct inter- 
ship contact in space; each ship cutting down to 
exactly that speed while traveling in a parallel 
direction, and then cutting in toward each other 
until contact was established. The signal "460/460" 
was used to indicate a wish to board a vessel in 
space. — Ed. 


REHEARSAL FOR DANGER 


195 


and prepared the hatchway for the 
locking of the approaching ship. It 
had disappeared from the screen alto- 
gether so I knew it was practically 
alongside now. 

In about another couple of minutes 
I heard a metallic bang! Then a shud- 
dering jar traveled the length of my 
ship and I knew we were locked to the 
side of the black raider. 

Another five minutes passed while I 
knew air was being pumped into the 
hermetically sealed compartment cre- 
ated by the locked hatchways of the 
two ships. 

Then I heard a metal clamp release, 
a door open. Then a heavy fist was 
pounding imperiously on the hatchway 
door of my ship. 

I opened the door and three men 
with drawn electric guns in their fists 
shoved me aside and stalked into the 
ship. 

They were all hard looking speci- 
mens of the space marauder type. One 
of them covered me with his gun while 
the other two made a swift search of 
the ship. The one with the drop on 
me was tall and lean with a viciously 
hooked nose. 

"We aren't carrying cargo," I said 
quietly. "In fact there's nothing on 
board of any value." 

"Shut up!" Hook Nose snapped. 

The two other bandits returned then, 
ushering young Danny Harker before 
them. He still looked sleepy and un- 
interested in what was going on. 

"It's him, all right," Hook Nose said. 
"Take him to the chief." 

One of the men behind the kid 
nudged him with his gun. 

"Get movin'l" he snapped. "Into 
the other ship." 

The kid looked at him with sleepy 
irritation. 

"Supposing I don't?" he asked. 

The man behind him hesitated for 


an instant. Then his mouth hardened. 

"If you don't you'll feel something 
very, very hot right between your 
shoulders." 

"You wouldn't shoot me," the kid 
said, "but I'll go along anyway. Just 
to see how far you simpletons are go- 
ing to carry this thing." 

He disappeared through the connect- 
ing hatchways followed by the two 
men. Hook Nose turned to me, an 
ugly smile on his face. 

"So there's nothing of value on board, 
eh?" he jeered. "Suppose Bull Har- 
ker's son ain't pretty valuable cargo, 
eh?" 

It hit me then. Somehow this band 
must have learned that Danny Harker 
was riding with me to Eleven. Their 
object was of course to shake down his 
dad for everything they could. 

"What happens to me?" I asked 
Hook Nose bluntly. 

He shrugged. 

"Depends on the chief." 

I noticed that his thick index finger 
was curved lovingly about the trigger 
of the electric gun in his hand. There 
was no doubt in my mind as to my fate 
if Hook Nose had anything to say 
about it. 

But in a few minutes one of Hook 
Nose's comrades stepped through the 
hatchway. 

"Chief says to bring this fellow 
along," he said, in an unpleasant nasal 
voice. 

Hook Nose relaxed the pressure of 
his finger, on the trigger disgustedly. 
His close set, glittering eyes gleamed 
with frustration. 

Obeying a motion from the thug in 
the hatchway I followed him into the 
black raider, Hook Nose trailing close 
behind me. 

AS I was led down a corridor of the 
big space craft I noticed a half- 


196 


AMAZING STORIES 


dozen more bandits, all as tough and 
ruthless looking as the first three I had 
encountered. I've knocked about the 
tough spots of the universe most of 
my life and it takes more than a un- 
pleasant mug to worry me. But I was 
thinking about the kid. With his en- 
vironment and friends, such as they 
were, I knew all of this would be strange 
and terrifying to him. Or so I thought. 

The bandit ahead of me stopped at 
a door and knocked. I heard a gruff 
shout from within the room. Hook 
Nose prodded me forward as his com- 
rade jerked open the door and stepped 
back. I stepped through the door, and 
the first thing I saw was the kid. He 
was lounging in a comfortable chair, 
in the act of politely covering his mouth 
with his hands to hide a sleepy yawn. 

There was another person in the 
room. A tall, heavily set man with a 
heavy black beard and unwinking cold 
blue eyes. His face was flabby with 
fat, but not enough to cover the jutting 
angle of his massive jaw. Hair like 
stiff bristles, black and short, covered 
his round head. There was something 
about him, something of complete ruth- 
lessness that raised the hackles at the 
back of my neck. 

Without taking his eyes from mine 
he seated himself carefully behind a 
metal desk, one of the few items of 
furniture in the sparsely furnished 
room. 

"You look like you been around," 
he said finally. His voice was husky, 
almost soft, but there was a faint rasp 
to it. 

"Thanks for the compliment," I said 
drily. "Now what goes here?" 

He jerked a thumb at Danny Har- 
ker, who was still lounging wearily in 
the chair, paying little attention to 
what was going on. 

"He's young Harker," the Chief said. 
"His old man will part with a lot to 


get him back. And we're goin' to see 
that he does." 

I watched and listened carefully as 
the man spoke. There was something 
about him that teased my memory. 

He noticed my scrutiny and smiled 
without humor. 

"You don't know me," he said. "But 
maybe my name is familiar to you. The 
Federation Police calls me the Angel." 

The name was familiar. While not 
the biggest of the remaining space buc- 
caneers, the Angel was considered tops 
in ruthless, merciless cruelty and cal- 
lousness. A cold sweat beaded my palms 
as the realization of our plight, struck 
home. 

The Angel grinned wolfishly and 
stood up. 

"You know you're not playing with 
a minnow," he said in his strangely soft 
voice. "You're doing business with a 
shark. And don't let me have to warn 
either of you twice that my word is law 
on board this ship and at my base. I'd 
as soon burn a man down as blow my 
nose." 

There was a tense silence in the room 
for an instant and then the kid — young 
Danny Harker — laughed. An amused, 
indifferent chuckle that brought a quick 
flush of rage to the Angel's face. 

"My, my, but aren't you the blood- 
thirsty fellow," the kid said sarcasti- 
cally. 

'"pHE Angel's fists clenched into 
meaty mallets as he stepped around 
the desk and strode to the chair the kid 
was lounging in. 

"You're a wise guy, are you?" he 
growled, and the rasp in his voice was 
a file on steel. 

The kid surveyed him insolently. 

"Wise enough," he said casually. 

The Angel's face worked spasmod- 
ically. His big fists clenched until the 
knuckles whitened. 


REHEARSAL FOR DANGER 


197 


"Get up!" he barked. 

The kid stood up nonchalantly. 
There was no trace of fear or anxiety 
in his face. His eyes mocked the An- 
gel. With his hands stuck negligently 
in his pockets, a funny grin on his lips, 
he seemed to be defying him to do his 
worst. 

The Angel grabbed the kid's shirt, 
jerking him close to him. His right 
fist drew back like a sledge: 

"Go ahead," the kid said softly. He 
still hadn't taken his hands from his 
pockets. "Hit me. And when you do 
I can promise you that you'll regret it 
more than anything you've ever re- 
gretted in your life." 

It sounded absolutely incredible com- 
ing from that slim, drunken playboy. 
But he meant it. There was no doubt- 
ing the' sincerity in his voice or the 
flashes of angry color in his pale cheek. 

The Angel paused uncertainly. 

"Go ahead," the kid prompted. 

The Angel dropped his fist and 
shoved the kid away from him. There 
was a puzzled expression on his face 
as he wheeled and strode back to his 
desk. As if he had seen, for the first 
time in his life, something he couldn't 
quite understand. 

"Get out! Both of you," he said, 
his voice again soft. "My men will 
take care of you till we reach the 
base." 

His words were directed at both of 
us, but his cold eyes were staring 
straight at the kid. I couldn't tell defi- 
nitely, but I thought I saw an uneasy 
uncertainty in them. 

When we had left his quarters, Hook 
Nose was waiting to take us to a small, 
practically unfurnished room with a 
barred door. When this had slammed 
behind us, he leered at us and said. 

"I'm kind of hoping you'll give me 
a chance to use this little toy." 

He shoved his electric gun through 


the bars and flexed his trigger finger 
suggestively. What happened then 
was too fast for my eyes to follow. 

For the kid, with a wide grin on his 
face, leaped across the room and ripped 
the electric gun out of Hook Nose's 
hand. Turning it around he shoved the 
muzzle within an inch of the amazed 
and terrified bandit's head. 

"Open up!" he said briskly. 

I felt my nerves squirming like a 
basket of snakes. 

If Hook Nose let out a yell the kid's 
daring game would be over. But Hook 
Nose was too scared to think of that. 
His eyes were rolling wildly as he 
jerked open the door of the cell and 
cowered back as the kid sauntered out. 

"Simple, isn't it?" the kid asked non- 
chalantly. 

T FOLLOWED him out, flashing a 
look in both directions. Fortunately 
the corridor was clear. The kid's au- 
dacity had left me stunned. I have 
seen desperate men in all the crummy 
nooks of the universe, but there were 
few who possessed the calm resource- 
fulness Danny Harker had shown in 
the pinch. 

As far as nerves were concerned, he 
didn't have any. He stood there in the 
corridor twirling the gun idly in his 
hands, a sardonic grin on his face. 

"Well?" he asked, amusement in his 
voice. "What next?" 

What might have happened next was 
anybody's guess, had not a sudden in- 
terruption occurred in the form of the 
Angel and two of his men appearing 
abruptly around the angle of the corri- 
dor. 

They took in the scene instantly, and 
in a tenth of a second their hands were 
streaking for their gun belts. 

But the kid turned and faced them, 
his gun resting loosely in his hand. He 
didn't have them covered for his hand 


198 


AMAZIN© STORIES 


was hanging at his side carelessly. 

"Go ahead and shoot," he grinned. 
"I dare you. In fact, I'll give the first 
man with enough guts to draw his gun, 
my wallet with everything in it." 

The silence in the narrow corridor 
was terrible. The tension was some- 
thing tangible, something you could ac- 
tually feel. 

The Angel's cold eyes locked with 
the kid's for fully ten seconds, then 
his hand slowly withdrew from the 
holster at his side. His lips were drawn 
back from his teeth in a snarl, but there 
was fear in his eyes. 

The men at his side followed his lead. 
Their hands slipped away from their 
belts and dropped nervously to their 
sides. 

"I ain't committing suicide," one of 
them muttered. 

I suddenly found it difficult to 
breathe. The sight of the slim kid dar- 
ing three ruthless pirates to draw their 
guns left me dumbfounded. 

He actually looked disappointed. I 
decided then that the kid was a killer, 
as cold as the void itself, infinitely more 
dangerous than the Angel or any of his 
murderers. 

"I hoped for a little fun," he said, 
still smiling. "I was getting ready to 
enjoy myself. But if none of you care 
to oblige me, I'll just have to wait for 
another opportunity." 

With a contemptuous gesture he 
tossed the electric gun at the Angel's 
feet, turned — and strolled back into the 
ceU! 

My knees went suddenly hollow. I 
was too stunned to move. So was the 
Angel and his men. For perhaps five 
second the kid's terrifying effrontery 
held us stupidly motionless. Then, 
coming to life, the Angel drew his gun 
and pointed it at me. 

"Get back into the cell," he said 
weakly. His voice was trembling 


slightly, and beads of sweat were pop- 
ping out on his brow. 

I was still too dazed to think clearly. 
Like a sleep walker I stumbled into the 
cell, and I didn't even hear the door 
bang behind me. The kid was lying 
on the narrow cot gazing up at me with 
cool nonchalance. He actually looked 
as if he had been amused by the entire 
episode. 

"You crazy young fool!" I managed 
to gasp weakly. "What did you do that 
for?" 

He shrugged his slim shoulders and 
yawned. 

"No sense spoiling their fun," he said 
lightly. "I'll have the last laugh any- 
way, so they may as well enjoy them- 
selves now." 

His confidence in himself was amaz- 
ing. But from what I had seen it wasn't 
misplaced. 

"Of course," I said drily, "you've got 
it all figured out to make a last-minute 
escape. AH the details worked out and 
everything." 

"I believe I could make an escape," 
he said slowly, as if the idea had just 
occurred to him. "But," he grinned 
again, "I haven't got all the details 
figured out." 

I didn't say anything more. To tell 
the truth I didn't have the nerve to try 
and tell this amazing kid anything. It 
was obvious, terribly obvious to me, 
that he had been woefully misjudged 
all of his life. He had been set down 
as a namby-pamby young punk, when 
actually he was one of the most po- 
tentially dangerous men I had ever 
seen. 

T^OR the rest of the trip to the Angel's 
hidden base the kid slept like an in- 
nocent baby. And I stewed. I couldn't 
even begin to see a way out of the hell- 
ish situation. For I knew that the kid 
and myself would never be allowed to 


REHEARSAL FOR DANGER 


199 


live after the ransom was collected. 
We would be eliminated as soon as the 
money tickled the Angel's greedy paw. 
For dead men make somewhat unreli- 
able witnesses. The Angel knew that. 

I knew all this and I couldn't close 
my eyes for worrying about it. But it 
didn't bother the kid. He slept straight 
through the trip until Hook Nose and 
three of his cute chums opened our cell 
door and ordered us out. I knew we 
had moored for I felt the shock of the 
deceleration rockets, but where we 
were was something I wouldn't even 
guess about. 

The kid climbed to his feet and 
stretched. Then he sauntered out of 
the cell, bestowing a contemptuous 
glance at Hook Nose as he passed him. 

We were led out of the black ship 
into cold sunshine. Climbing down the 
hatchway ladder I saw that the ship 
was moored in a fenced stockade 
against which green, luxuriant jungle 
foliage pressed hungrily. 

Maybe we were on Venus. But the 
atmosphere seemed light for Venus. 
Also it was too cold. I noticed then 
that my two-passenger had made the 
trip with us, stuck to the black raider 
like a barnacle to the side of a liner. 

The Angel was on the ground waiting 
for us. A gun was clenched, nerv- 
ously I thought, in his big right hand. 
It was not trained on me, but on the 
kid. It was apparent that the Angel 
recognized the more dangerous of his 
captives. 

"I want no funny business," he 
purred. "If you make any attempt to 
escape, you'll be shot down like dogs." 

"It won't be just an attempt," the 
kid said lazily. 

The Angel's dark face purpled with 
anger. But there was a frightened ex- 
pression mingled with the rage. He 
looked like an angry man who was 
afraid of the object of his anger. 


"I'm warning you," he said thickly. 
"Don't start anything." 

"I'm warning you," the kid said 
softly, "not to try and stop anything I 
start." 

It was crazy and wild, but there was 
a convincing chill to the way he spoke 
and looked at the Angel. Several of 
the bandits had guns in their hands 
trained on the kid. The Angel had his 
own gun out and yet — he backed un- 
certainly from the slim, youthful-look- 
ing kid who was slouching lazily with 
both hands jammed in his pockets. 

"Get to your cells," the Angel said 
harshly, breathing hard. "Follow my 
men and — and don't start nothing!" 

Two of his men motioned us forward 
with their guns, but the kid remained 
motionless, smiling at the Angel. 

"Don't worry," he said softly. "I 
won't start anything." 

He started after the Angel's men, 
but stopped and glanced back, smiling 
easily. 

"I'll finish it!" 

Then, with me trailing along bewil- 
deredly at his side, he sauntered along 
behind the two bandits to a thick, squat 
wooden hut that was equipped with 
barred windows and a heavy window- 
less door. 

TNSIDE was nothing but two hard 
cots and two chairs. When the door 
slammed behind us, imprisoning us as 
tightly as rats in a trap, the kid broke 
out chuckling. 

"Did you see his face?" he chortled. 
"He didn't know what to do or say. I 
tell you I haven't had so much fun in 
years." 

"I wish I had your sense of humor," 
I said glumly. "How in Hades are we 
going to get out of here?" 

"You got me here," the kid said 
complacently. "We'll just have to wait 
and see what's next on the program." 


200 


AMAZINS STORIES 


We didn't have long to wait. 

That night two of the Angel's men 
ordered us from our cell and led us to 
another building of the same construc- 
tion, but larger and without the barred 
doors and windows. 

It turned out to be the Angel's office. 
He was waiting for us as we entered, 
blinking a little at the glaring illumina- 
tion. 

"We are ready to inform Mr. Har- 
ker," he said in his silky voice, "of the 
sad plight of his son. I have written 
the communication. All it requires is 
the signature of the young Mr. Har- 
ker." 

My eyes nicked to his desk. There 
was an unsigned letter resting prom- 
inently on its surface. Glancing about 
I saw that several of the Angel's little 
helpmates were lounging against the 
wall, hands conveniently near their 
guns. But in spite of the apparently 
cut-and-dried order of things; in spite 
of the fact that we were outnumbered 
and unarmed, there was a definite tense 
nervousness on the faces of the men 
watching us. 

I understood their feelings. Han- 
dling a man such as the kid had proved 
himself was no light matter. I wouldn't 
have cared particularly to be in their 
shoes. 

As the Angel finished his little speech, 
the kid nicked a cool gaze about the 
room. 

"And if I don't sign?" the kid asked 
insolently. 

"We have ways of persuasion," the 
Angel purred. "They are not pleas- 
ant, but they are highly effective." 

This seemed to amuse the kid. A 
mocking grin touched the corners of 
his mouth. 

"How melodramatic," he said lightly. 

The Angel pointed to the letter and 
the electrostylus lying next to it. 

"Are you going to sign?" he asked, 


the rasp in his soft voice grating on our 
ears. 

Young Danny Harker, the punk out 
of whom / was supposed to make a 
man, smiled, folded his arms carefully 
and said, 

"You can go to hell!" 

npHERE was a stunned silence in the 
room, broken only by the Angel's 
hoarse breathing. 

"All right," he grated. "You've 
asked for it." 

Without taking his eyes from the kid 
he motioned to two of his men. 

"Get the necessary persuaders." 

The two men left the room hurriedly. 
The kid sat down and yawned, leaning 
back in the chair. 

I have never seen such magnificent 
indifference. Lounging there you'd 
think he was waiting for a waiter to 
bring him a cold drink before he dozed 
off for a little nap. 

It got on the Angel's nerves. Badly. 

He panthered back and forth in 
front of the kid, shooting vicious 
glances at him. His big fists were 
clenched tightly, his flabby face was 
twitching nervously. 

"Damn you!" he suddenly roared. 
"Don't sit there laughing at me. You 
won't be laughing in a few minutes. 
You're scared to the core, but you're 
trying not to show it. Damn it! You 
must be scared!" 

"Must I?" the kid asked innocently. 
"I'd like to oblige but somehow I just 
can't do it. Maybe if you'd try making 
faces at me I might react a bit more 
satisfyingly." 

The Angel stopped in front of him, 
eyes glittering coldly. 

"I've handled some cool customers 
in my day," he said softly, "but noth- 
ing like you. These men in the room 
I used to think were dangerous. But 
compared to you they're a lot of school 


REHEARSAL FOR DANGER 


201 


girls playing with posies. You'd cut 
my throat and be telling your friend a 
joke over your shoulder at the same 
time.' ' 

"No, I wouldn't do that," the kid said 
very seriously. "When I cut your 
throat I promise you that I'll devote 
my complete attention to the task. 
Nothing could distract my mind from 
anything so pleasant." 

The Angel snarled something unin- 
telligible, but his hand crept furtively 
to his neck and massaged it carefully, 
as if relieved to find it still intact. 

The two pirates returned then, each 
carrying a bucket in his hand. One 
bucket was filled with water to the 
rim. The other was filled with glow- 
ing hot coals. 

They set them down close to the kid 
and stepped back. 

"Before we make you wish you were 
never born," the Angel said harshly, 
"are you going to sign?" 

With the arrival of the implements 
of torture, the Angel quickly resumed 
his confident, swaggering manner. For 
it was his ferocious cruelty that had 
made his reputation, given him his 
power and leadership. 

The kid leaned forward. 

"I told you once, Angel," he said, 
"where you could go." 

The Angel's face twisted brutally. 
He stepped forward, and his men fol- 
lowed him, forming a tight semi-circle 
about the kid. 

The kid was grinning again, a glint 
of puckish humor glinting in his eyes. 

"I said," he repeated slowly, "that 
you could go — to—" 

He bent quickly, jammed his hands 
wrist deep into the bucket of cold wa- 
ter. Then, before the startled Angel 
could move, he scooped a double hand- 
ful of live coals and flung them into the 
circle of faces ringing him in. 

"Hell! " he completed his sentence. 


r J~ , HE circle about him broke as the 
Angel and his men scrambled fran- 
tically away from the shower of hot 
coals. With a powerful boot the kid 
kicked the red hot bucket into their 
midst. The angrily blazing coals cas- 
caded in a fiery stream about them, 
singeing, searing, blinding. 

Two men leaped for the kid, but I 
stepped in and swung twice. A right 
and a left with every ounce of my 
weight behind them. They went down, 
sprawling queerly. 

The kid leaped forward and kicked 
the scattered coals into the faces of 
the Angel's disorganized crew. A few 
hit their mark, but that was enough. 

The Angel ducked out the door, and 
his men, leaderless and terrified, scut- 
tled after him. I jumped to the door, 
slammed it and bolted it. 

The kid was laughing uproariously 
when I turned from the door. 

"Did you see their faces," he gasped 
between chuckles. "Never so surprised 
in all their lives!" 

"Cut that," I snapped. "We've got 
to figure a way to take advantage of 
our break. Got any ideas?" 

I knew that the Angel and his men 
would surround the house, waiting for 
us to make a break. They wouldn't 
have to be in any hurry to get us. They 
could afford to wait. We couldn't. 

The kid pointed to a lead receptacle 
beside the desk. 

"Looks like electron grenades might 
be kept there," he said indifferently. 
"A couple of those would discourage 
everybody." 

"They'd blow us to hell, too," I said. 
Electron grenades had been outlawed 
on Earth because their destructive 
power and their instability were both 
practically limitless. You could never 
tell when a slight jar was going to set 
the things off. And when they went 
off the blast was like nothing you could 


202 


AMAZING STORIES 


imagine. 

The kid however had pried the lock 
on the leaden receptacle, disregarding 
my warning. My legs suddenly went 
hollow as his hands emerged from the 
box holding a light silver ball, about 
two inches in diameter and smooth as 
an egg. 

"Take it easy," I said, trying to keep 
my voice steady. I was frankly scared 
as hell. Why the Angel kept one of 
those pills of danger around, I couldn't 
guess. Unless it was to stifle a possible 
mutiny. He'd stifle himself in setting 
an electron grenade into action, but 
maybe he didn't care. I did though. 

"Handle that thing carefully," I 
warned the kid. "Put it back and for- 
get about it. We want to leave here 
in one piece." 

The kid grinned at me. He rolled 
the grenade around in his hand like 
an apple. 

"Watch it!" I shouted, half hysteri- 
cally. Anyone who has seen the effects 
of an electron grenade has a more than 
healthy respect for them. 

But the kid strolled to the door, still 
smiling. With one hand he unbolted 
it and swung it open. Then he stepped 
through the door into the illuminated 
stockade. 

I jumped after him, expecting a siz- 
zling inferno of electric pellets to burn 
into him, but nothing like that hap- 
pened. 

For the Angel and his men, grouped 
in front of the house had seen the elec- 
tron grenade in the kid's hand. They 
were backing fearfully away from him, 
their guns hanging limply in their 
nerveless fingers. 

"D — don't!" the Angel pleaded 
hoarsely. "Y — you'll "blow us all to 
atoms." 

'T'HE kid followed them slowly, jug- 
gling the grenade carelessly in his 


hand. 

"I've never seen one of these go off," 
he said casually. "It might be worth 
watching." 

"No, no," the Angel screamed, saliva 
frothing his lips. 

The kid tossed the grenade into the 
air and caught it in his palm as it 
dropped. My heart had absolutely 
stopped beating. It often took less than 
that to set one of those unpredictable 
balls of condensed fury into violent 
action. 

I spotted my two-passenger ship 
then, resting in a small tube. I headed 
for it, the kid following me leisurely. 

He continued to toss the grenade 
from one hand to another as if it were 
a rubber ball, and I expected to be 
blown into oblivion any instant. Sweat 
was pouring from my face and my 
knees were watery as I staggered on 
to the expulsion tube. 

"We seem to be leaving," the kid 
said insolently to the huddled group of 
pirates. "Any objections? Or is the 
little show all over?" 

"For God's sake," the Angel gasped, 
his face pallid with fear. "Get out of 
here. I — I made a mistake in bother- 
ing an inhuman machine like you. Just 
leave me alone. Please!" 

His voice almost cracked on the last 
word. 

I released the valve on the hatch door 
of my ship and swung it open. Clam- 
bering in, I set the take-off rocket and 
the course adjustor. Flicking on the 
asteroid screen I was ready to blast off. 
But the kid was still standing in the 
hatchway, surveying the. stockade and 
pirates moodily. 

"Come on!" I snapped. "We haven't 
got a second to spare. These scum will 
blast after us the minute we leave." 

The kid looked at me and grinned 
mirthlessly. 

"You can relax, Grandpaw," he said 


REHEARSAL FOR DANGER 


203 


sarcastically. "I'm on to the little 
game. I have been all along. Did you 
think you actually had me fooled?" 

"Fooled?" I shouted. "What the 
hell are you talking about?" 

"I heard you and Dad plan the whole 
thing," he said triumphantly. "I was 
right outside the office door listening 
when Dad and you cooked up this 
scheme to scare the pants off me. But 
it didn't work, Mr. Smart Guy." 

I was suddenly dizzy. My knees al- 
most buckled as the kid's words crashed 
into my brain. Having heard the con- 
versation between Bull Harker and 
myself, he had believed this entire busi- 
ness was a fake staged for his benefit. 
Naturally he hadn't been scared. No 
wonder that he had behaved like a hero. 
My mind flashed to his cool amuse- 
ment, his dauntless daring, his mocking 
i disregard of the Angel's threat. Those 
things had been his natural reaction to 
a situation that he believed phony. 

He had just been playing a game, se- 
cure in his knowledge that nothing 
serious was going to happen to him. 

T STARED at him incredulously. 

"So," I managed to gasp weakly, 
"you think this is a frame-up?" 

"Of course," he grinned. "I had a 
hard job to keep from laughing in your 
face. You tried so hard to convince 
me that you were really worried that 
it was pathetic. From start to finish 
the whole thing was obvious. Even if 
I hadn't been tipped off I would have 
caught on. For one thing this phony 
electron grenade was a dead give- 
away. No one in his right mind would 
leave one of these lying around. So I 
knew it was just another one of the 
props you had planted to frighten the 
little boy." 

He tossed it carelessly from one hand 
to the other as he spoke. 

"You fool!" I stormed. "Watch 


what you're doing. Do you want to 
be blasted into bits?" 

He smiled at my wrath. 

"Still carrying on the act, eh?" he 
said cynically. "Well maybe this will 
convince you that I'm not worried 
about a phony grenade." 

He turned and tossed the grenade 
high in the air. 

The Angel and his men broke, 
screaming madly, and I jerked the kid 
into the ship with a brutal heave and 
slammed the door shut. 

I was leaping for the control lever 
when a mighty roar broke like thunder 
in my ears, and the ship shuddered un- 
der a sledge hammer blast. For a sec- 
ond I was too stunned to crawl to my 
feet. 

But I was able to stick one hand up 
and shove the rocket lever forward. A 
sputtering crackle sounded behind and, 
with a giddying rush, the ship rocketed 
upward into the void. 

When I had righted its zooming 
course and set the controls I turned 
back to the kid. 

He was still lying on the floor, but 
his eyes were open and there was an 
expression on his face unlike anything 
I have ever seen. 

"It — it was a real grenade," he said 
weakly. 

I nodded grimly. If dead men could 
testify, the Angel and his men would 
corroborate that. 

"Then," the words trembled on his 
lips, "the whole ,thing — kidnaping and 
all — was on the level. Not a fake?" 

I nodded again. 

I thought surely he would pass out. 
His face turned an absolute green as his 
thoughts flashed backward. It must 
have been a bad moment for him. But 
at the core there was good stuff in the 
kid. 

"I've been a hopeless fool," he said 
shuddering. 


204 


AMAZING STORIES 


"When you get around to admitting 
it," I said, "there's hope for improve- 
ment." 

The kid was doing a lot of silent 
thinking as I set the course for Earth. 
As we arced through the limitless black 
expanses of space he said wistfully : 

"If I hadn't thought it was all a fake, 
if I really had been a hero, Dad would 
be pretty proud of me, wouldn't he?" 

"You bet," I said. I was silent for 
an instant. Then: "We might forget 
that you overheard a certain conversa- 


tion. We'll just both forget that you 
thought it was all a fake." 

The kid was silent for a long mo- 
ment. Then he said: 

"No I can't do it. I'm no hero and 
it would be cheap to try and pretend 
I was. We'll tell the truth when we 
get back." 

I drew a relieved breath. I had been 
afraid he might have fallen for my bait. 
He was right. He wasn't a hero. But 
I'll fight any man who says he hasn't 
got the makings of one. 


THAT MYTH ABOUT MAGIC 

Believe in magic, eh? Well it's all ba- By 
loney. Sure, there's a little of science, GUY 
but mostly, you're gullible! FAULDES 


THE next time you're watching a 
tail-coated, top-hatted spade- 
bearded chap pulling a rabbit out 
of a startled patron's pocket on the 
stage of your favorite theater, don't sit 
back knowingly and smirk, "The hand 
is quicker than the eye." For that time 
worn bromide, we'll now inform you, 
is a lot of baloney. 

The eye, dear skeptic, is much 
quicker than the hand. Any hand, even 
the hand of the slickest magician in the 
business. And the thing that sends us 
away from neat magical performances 
awed by what we've seen is not the fact 
that our eyes were too slow. It is, 
rather, that our brain was befoggled and 
tripped up. 

For magic is — to a great extent — de- 
pendent on science. And the science it 
leans on in particular is psychology. 
Mechanical devices, mumbo- jumbo, 
cape waving, and all the other assorted 
gadgets that go with professional magic 
are not in themselves designed for de- 
ception as such. They are each inter- 
on one another and com- 


pletely dependent upon a psychological 
effect sought by the magician using them. 

And the psychology behind all magic 
of the professional sort is in tricking 
our brain rather than our eyes. Through 
psychology our mind is misdirected, 
causing it to command our eyes to gaze 
intently on some utterly innocuous part 
of the trick while the magician deftly 
completes it utterly unnoticed by our 
betrayed senses. 

Take the famous "silent" magician, 
The Great Cardini. Cardini, noted as 
being the top man of the suave school 
of magic, is a sleek, moustached, mon- 
ocled, good looking devil who invari- 
ably is attired in the smartest of evening 
clothes. His very walk, smile, bland air 
of complete nonchalance all go into 
building a fascination over the definite 
character he is portraying. The mo- 
ment you see Cardini step into the spot- 
light, you are fascinated by the per- 
sonality he is acting for you. It catches 
your attention to hold it subconsciously 
for the duration of the performance. 

The very suavity of The Great Car- 


THAT MYTH ABOUT MAGIC 


dini's appearance is in itself soothing 
and pleasing. His mannerisms are ad- 
ditionally so. When he smilingly twirls 
his stick it is done so naturally, so ef- 
fortlessly, that you watch with breath- 
less enchantment. And as he twirls it, 
he might possibly show you with a 
courtly wave-and-switch of cane into 
either hand that he holds nothing in his 
palm. But the stick twirls; your at- 
tention is still unwittingly held by it, 
until you are startled in the next instant 
to see a deck of cards appear from thin 
airl 

Your mind was misdirected. Cardini 
smiles and tosses his stick to an assis- 
tant. Then, nonchalantly, holding the 
card deck at arms length, the great 
magician does incredible things with it. 
It grows, it dwarfs, it disappears, it 
changes color. But while this goes on 
Cardini has gestures, slight, suave, nat- 
ural gestures— such as touching his 
monocle lightly with his free hand — 
which, though you are unaware of it, 
divert your attention just long enough 
for him to accomplish the necessary 
mechanisms of each trick. Sometimes a 
facial expression — and Cardini is a 
master of pantomime expression — is 
enough to divert your mind long enough 
for the master to bewilder you. 

And then, to add to your impossible 
task of trying to trip up a master magi- 
cian, there is another psychological fac- 
tor. The moment a trick is finished, the 
magician is off to a fresh one. It is ob- 
vious that a brain still puzzling over 
the feats of the first astonishing per- 
formance, and trying to wrestle a solu- 
tion out of it, is much too crowded to 
successfully follow the next feat. The 
snarling up becomes even greater. 

Incidentally, it might be well to know 
that another myth about magic is that 
distance gives advantage to the magi- 
cian. This, in spite of its more or less 
logical supposition, is not true at all. 


The reverse is true. Almost any pro- 
fessional magician can tell you that the 
angles of vision from a distance are 
greater than at close proximity. From 
four feet, you'd have difficulty in watch- 
ing both hand of a magician, whereas 
from forty feet you could do so with 
ease. In spite of this fact, however, Joe 
Sucker is much more entranced by 
tricks performed under his very nose, 
since he wrongly considers them to be 
far more difficult. 

It is the commonplace gestures of a 
magician, such as Cardini's squinting 
astonishment at an object that pops un- 
expectedly into his hand, that must be 
watched most carefully. For while Car- 
dini bends over an unexpected egg in 
his hand, feigning astonishment, you 
must realize that he's bringing the ob- 
ject much closer to his person, thus set- 
ting up the trick that will make some- 
thing even more' incredible happen to 
the egg. And the harder you try men- 
tally to catch up with the magician, the 
easier it is for him to fool you. 

However, in case some of you are 
feeling a little like lame brains by now, 
here's an accepted assertion — agreed to 
by all the masters of professional magic 
— that should make you feel better for 
having been duped. It is a fact that 
the most intelligent persons are most 
easily deceived by magical hocus pocus, 
while the childish and moron bracket 
minds are the hardest to trick. Adults 
notice only an indicated object to which 
a finger points. Children notice the 
fingers first, then turn to the object. 
And when a master magician indicates 
an object which, for psychological rea- 
sons of trickery" he wants you to notice, 
he'd rather you looked at the object and 
not at the hand with which he drew at- 
tention to that object. For nine times 
out of ten, there's something up his 
sleeve. 

All right now, pick a card — any cardl 


Herriclc leaped forward and put all he had behind a surprise blew 

206 


Q SHIP of SPACE 

by DUNCAN FARNSWORTH 

Herrkk was proud of his new command, but this 
innocent freighter took him down a notch or two! 


Y OWN ship, at last!" 

Junior space officer An- 
drew Herrick breathed the 
words as he stood on the bridge of his 
slim, snub-nosed, rocket cruiser, As- 
tern, feeling the pride that is the just 
dessert of any man in charge of his first 
command. 

The Astera was on patrol, four days 
out of Space Station Forty, and car- 



ried a crew of four officers and a hun- 
dred men. To the ordinary eye the 
Astera was just one of a thousand such 
patrol vessels designated by the Space 
Command of Earth Federation to 
keep sharp eyes on constant lookout in 
the danger zones of the interplanetary 
chain. 

But to young junior space officer 
Herrick it was much more than that. 
It was his ship, and his first taste of 
complete authority and responsibility 
in this Sixth World War. 

"Coolness and efficiency during in- 
terplanetary action around the Mar- 
tian port of Wereza," was what the ci- 
tation young Herrick received four 
months ago from the Space Command 
had stated. And his meritorious be- 
havior during that engagement had 
earned him this command. Now he 
was anxious to carry on his record, to 


208 


AMAZING STORIES 


make a name for himself that would 
some day be equal to the legendary 
honor accorded to some eight Herricks 
of the past and present who served in 
the space forces of Earth Federation. 

Young Herrick considered himself 
obliged by the glory that was emblaz- 
oned on his family record to carry on — ■ 
at least to the point where he would 
some day be able to attain the post his 
father now held, that of admiral of the 
Fourth Battle Fleet of the Federation 
Space Forces.* 

Herrick felt warm in the pride his 
father already felt for him. And as he 
stood on the bridge of the Astern, feel- 
ing the steady vibration of the rocket 
motors under the decks below him, his 
hand sought his right tunic pocket 
where old Admiral Herrick's recent 
vizagram rested. It was a short, terse 
note, typical of his father. 

"Congratuations on new com- 
mand. Good luck. How's Myra 
getting along? Vizagram as soon 
as you learn anything." 
Young Herrick grinned as he 
thought of this message. Everyone in 
the Fourth Battle Fleet, of which the 
Astera was a part, seemed to be wait- 
ing for news of Myra. His father, of 
course, more than anyone else. 

A vizagraph officer, a moon-faced 
youngster named Maloney, approached 
Herrick and saluted. 

"Beg to report message from doctor, 
sir." 

"Yes?" Herrick's voice quickened 
with interest. 


♦Sixth World War— Began in the year 2300 
A.D., and was fought on a vast interplanetary 
front between the forces of Earth and Mars, over 
supremacy of trade in the outer Interplanetary 
Space Zones. Much of the action in this war de- 
pended on the destruction of shipping tonnage by 
both forces. It ended in the year 2310, with a 
treaty victory for Earth Federation, recognizing 
the freedom of trade in space.— Ed. 


5 "Nothing known as yet, sir," an- 
swered Maloney, and it was plain from 
his voice that he was as disappointed at 
the lack of news as his young officer. 

Herrick saluted. 

"Thank you, Maloney." 

TPHE bridge bulkhead door swung 
open as Maloney stepped out, then 
was filled with the white-tuniced uni- 
form of another young space-bronzed 
junior officer. 

Herrick smiled at his second-in-com- 
mand, as Jon Roberts took his place 
beside him. 

"Any news about Myra?" Roberts 
asked. 

Herrick shook his head. 

"Not yet. But motherhood is cer- 
tainly causing quite a fuss around the 
Fleet, I guess." 

Roberts showed quick loyalty in his 
glance, as he replied. 

"You're darned right it is, Andy. 
Everyone's anxious about Myra. You 
can't blame them." 

Herrick patted his second-in-com- 
mand's arm. 

"Of course," he said. He had a great 
affection for the stocky, wide-shoul- 
dered Jon Roberts. They'd been class- 
mates at school together. This com- 
mand of Herrick's was the first reun- 
ion they'd had since graduation. Her- 
rick had asked for Roberts as soon as 
he knew he'd been given the Astera. 

Roberts changed the subject. 

"This has been a pretty peaceful four 
days so far, eh, Andy?" 

Herrick nodded. 

"But each day takes us farther out 
on our own, Jon. And I've a feeling 
something should be brewing for us 
pretty shortly." 

The junior officer's words keynoted 
the spirit of his men aboard the As- 
tera. All of them were impatiently 
eager for a taste of action. For they 


P SHIP OF SPACE 


209 


were all aware that these were danger- 
ous space locales, and that frequent 
skirmishes against Martian space pa- 
trols were reported from this district. 

For a moment young Herrick was si- 
lent. Then he said: 

"Well, this inactivity at least means 
that some of the poor devils running 
merchant space freighting aren't being 
blown to hell." He sighed. "Not in 
our radius of patrol, at any rate." 

The bulkhead door banged, then 
opened, and Maloney, red-faced and 
breathless entered the bridge tower. 
He held a vizagram message in his 
hand. 

"I'll bet it's about Myra," Roberts 
burst forth excitedly. "I'll bet her bab — 
eh, huummph," he cut off, embarrassed 
at his outburst in front of Maloney. 

Herrick had taken the vizagram, was 
scanning it, while Roberts impatiently 
waited to find out what was in it. Her- 
rick's face was grave as he looked up. 

"Another ship in distress, a space 
freighter as I gather it. Our vizagraph 
picked up the distress signals. We seem 
to be closest." He crumpled the viza- 
graph into a ball, hesitating for an 
instant. Then to Maloney, he barked. 
"Tell our chief rocketeer to put full 
speed ahead, relay the distressed space 
freighter's position to him." 

Maloney saluted and was gone. 

Herrick turned to Roberts. 

"Not so far away from us," he said 
tersely. "Sounded, from the name of 
it, as if it were a Junovian tub. We'll 
see. Maybe it's only a question of a 
rocket breakdown." 

Roberts flushed eagerly. 

"At any rate," he observed, "it will 
be a bit of action." 

"Probably," Herrick agreed ... . 

ITERRICK stood on the bridge of 
the Aster a, with Roberts beside 
him, as they came within vizascreen 


distance of the distressed freighting 
vessel several hours later. 

"A big baby," Roberts exclaimed, 
peering down into the vizascreen. 

"Big is right," Herrick answered. 
"She's at least twice the length of the 
Astern. And I was right about the 
name sounding Junovian. Look at the 
pennant she's flying." 

Roberts nodded his head in agree- 
ment. 

"Yeah, Junovian, all right." He 
shook his head. "Seems to be just 
drifting in space. Wonder what's the 
trouble?" 

Herrick snapped off the vizascreen, 
and turned the knob of the panel be- 
fore him, switching on the intership 
communications screen. 

"Get the space lifecraft in readiness," 
he barked. "Pick a crew of twenty vol- 
unteers to man two of them. We're 
going to board this craft to have a 
talk with her captain." Then he flicked 
off the button. 

"You're a volunteer leader for one 
lifecraft," Roberts said quickly. 

"Very well," Herrick answered. "You 
take the second lifecraft, Jon. I'll skip- 
per the first." 

Herrick started toward the door of 
the bridge. Roberts was just a step 
behind him. Together they made their 
way down the companion ladder and 
onto the glassicade turreted deck of 
the Astera. As he had ordered, Herrick 
saw twenty of the crew lined alongside 
two space lifecraft, standing smartly 
at attention. He smiled to himself. 
There'd probably been a whale of a 
battle to get volunteer posts. Each of 
the men was so keyed up for any kind 
of action that he'd jump at the chance 
even to get in on such a mundane res- 
cue job as this. 

The steady-roaring rocket tubes of 
the Astera were slowed almost to a 
stop now as the patrol cruiser drifted 


210 


AMAZING STORIES 


closer to the huge, dirty Junovian space 
freighter. 

Herrick turned to Roberts now. His 
manner was crisp and devoid the famil- 
iarity he'd had on the bridge. 

"Officer Roberts, man the second 
lifecraft. Follow me. I'm leading in 
the first." 

They exchanged salutes. Then Her- 
rick turned away, and a moment later 
was taking his place in the stern of 
the atomic powered lifecraft as ten of 
his crew took position. His hand was 
steady on the driving gear as the atomic 
mechanism of the davits went into 
action and the small space craft was 
lifted up from the deck. 

Then the glassicade turrets along 
the rail of the Astera dropped away, 
and the tiny lifecraft was dangling out 
in space. The davit controls released, 
and Herrick threw the atomic motor 
throttle forward, catching power. 

He saw the glassicade turrets cover 
over the deck once more, then turned 
the nose of his lifecraft away from the 
Astera and pointed it in the direction 
of the huge, grimy, space freighting 
Junovian vessel. 

Two minutes later and Herrick was 
boarding the stinking hulk of the Juno- 
vian freighter. Roberts was behind him 
as they stepped on the deck. In each 
of the lifecraft, the crews waited off 
from the vessel. 

'T'HE captain of the freighter stood 
waiting to greet them. He was a 
tall, black-haired, thick-shouldered fel- 
low with a face that bore the leathery 
black wrinkles of space burn. His 
teeth were white and 'even as he sa- 
luted and smiled. 

Herrick returned his salute. 

"I'm Junior Officer Herrick, of Earth 
Federation, in command of the Astera," 
he said. Then, indicating Roberts: 
"This is Officer Roberts, my second in 


command." 

The freighter captain saluted again, 
still smiling whitely. 

Herrick said, feeling strangely un- 
easy that the freighter captain hadn't 
spoken as yet. 

"You understand Earth language?" 

"Certainly," the black-haired cap- 
tain said easily. "Sorry if I appeared 
rude. Glad you picked up our signal, 
Officer Herrick." 

"What's your trouble?" Herrick 
asked, looking around the strangely 
spotless deck of the big craft. 

The freighter captain seemed to be 
gazing over Herrick's shoulder. He 
was still smiling. And then, quite sud- 
denly, his hand shot to his tunic pocket 
and reappeared holding a vicious-look- 
ing electric pistol. He had it expertly 
trained between Herrick and Roberts. 

"Don't be so foolish as to show any 
signs of alarm that might be noticed 
by the men standing off in your ship's 
lifecraft, please," he said pleasantly. 
"Three of my crew are behind you. 
All of them have you covered. Please 
follow me to my stateroom." 

Roberts was choking in swift rage. 

Herrick was calmer, but a sinking 
sensation was in the pit of his stomach. 

"First of all," he said coolly, "you'd 
better explain what this means, Cap- 
tain." 

"This space craft is not, I am sorry 
to tell you, a Junovian vessel," the 
captain said smilingly. "You will learn 
the unpleasant details swiftly enough. 
Come." He snapped the last word like 
one used to being obeyed. 

Herrick felt an electric pistol prod 
him in the back. He turned to Roberts. 

"Come on," he instructed. "We'd 
better stick along for a bit." He was 
sickly aware that the men standing 
off in the lifecraft couldn't see any of 
this. And he was bitterly regretting 
that he hadn't boarded this freighter 


9 SHIP OF SPACE 


211 


armed. But there was no time for 
post-mortems now. They were being 
marched along the deck to a spotless 
duralloy Iadderway that led to what 
seemed to be the second bridge of the 
freighter. 

Roberts whispered, "What in the 
hell is this, Andy?" 

Herrick didn't answer. He took his 
time ascending the duralloy Iadderway, 
letting his gaze travel back over his 
shoulder as often as he dared, scanning 
the deck of the big freighter with keen 
eyes. 

Then they were on the second bridge. 
And Herrick saw that there was a viza- 
gram apparatus in operation here. This 
was the machine over which the dis- 
tress signal had obviously been sent. 

A yellow tuniced operator sat before 
the vizagram machine. And to Her- 
rick's keen eyes the chap seemed, like 
the spotless deck and shining duralloy 
ladder, out of place with the ragged 
dirty appearance of the freighter when 
they'd first sighted it. 

The three of the freighter's crew 
who'd followed behind as the captain 
led the way up to the second bridge 
were still present, their electric pistols 
trained on Herrick and Roberts. The 
captain shoved his own weapon back 
into his tunic pocket, and now stood 
beside a short instrument panel. 

He pressed one button, wordlessly, 
and an alarm bell rang somewhere in 
the bowels of the great vessel. 

The captain stepped over to the 
bridge rail. 

"Look," he instructed, pointing down 
to the big expanse of deck. 

TJERRICK followed his pointing fin- 
ger, and his jaw fell open in 
astonishment. Roberts, who'd also 
stepped to the rail, couldn't restrain 
an incredulous gasp. The decks of the 
freighter were alive with almost two 


hundred men! 

They moved swiftly, efficiently, as 
if trained to every motion. Some took 
their places inconspicuously along the 
rail, while others stood beside duralloy 
turrets of deck hatches. Herrick 
wheeled to face the captain. 

"What the hell!" He was angered, 
astonished, breathless, his voice de- 
manding explanation. 

The captain was still smiling. 

"This is quite a mystery ship, eh, 
Officer Herrick?" 

"What is this?" Roberts demanded. 

"A long, long time ago," the captain 
said, "there was an ancient device called 
a 'Q' ship. Its purpose was to serve 
as a lure, a bait, a decoy, in time of 
war to gather merchant shipping close 
to it by faked distress signals. Gen- 
erally it was an especially well armed 
craft disguised as a merchantman. This 
so-called space freighter is exactly that. 
You are on board an extremely modern 
counterpart of that ancient weapon of 
war. This 'freighter' is a fast, well 
armed space fighter. We have been 
operating in this interplanetary zone 
for quite some time, destroying much 
shipping which would otherwise have 
been valuable to the Earth Federation." 

"That's insane!" Roberts scoffed. 

But the captain's eyes were on 
Herrick. 

"I want you to vizagram your ship. 
Tell the officer in command to sur- 
render, or we'll blow the Astera out 
of the void," he ordered. 

Herrick looked once down at the 
deck. The men who had appeared there 
were still at their strange stations. He 
licked his lips. This was hardly a bluff, 
but— 

The captain saw the indecision in 
his eyes. He turned and pressed an- 
other button. And Herrick blinked. 
. A shell— the faked shell of a mer- 
chant freighter— rolled away from the 


212 


AMAZING STORIES 


sides of the vessel, revealing the snouts 
of gleaming atomic cannons. The hatch 
covers rolled away, exposing electra- 
cannons on the deck, with men ready 
to man them! 

But the captain was pointing to the 
bow of the ship. A red pennant — the 
flaming, lush banner of Mars — was 
hauled to the stub mast while the Ju- 
novian pennant slid slowly downward. 

Herrick swung to the Martian 
captain. 

"You win," he grated. 

The big captain nodded. 

"Of course I win. Please vizagram 
your ship to stand by for surrender. 
Otherwise I'll be forced to blow the 
Astera to bits." 

Herrick could picture the confusion, 
the sickening consternation that was 
probably rampant on the decks of the 
Astern at this moment. And he felt 
miserably, hideously ashamed of him- 
self for having been so duped. The 
men wouldn't open fire on this Martian 
vessel until he and Roberts were no 
longer aboard, or until the Martian 
captain fired first. And he knew that 
resistance on the part of the Astera, 
which didn't have the guns or the size 
to compare with this "Q" ship of space, 
would be futile and tragic. 

The Martian captain was right. His 
vessel could blow the Astera out of the 
void in less than a quarter-hour. Her- 
rick could feel Roberts looking at him, 
waiting his reply. 

JLTERRICK stepped over to the viza- 
gram panel, and switched it from 
"message" to "vizascreen." He could 
see young Maloney's face, white and 
startled, come onto the screen. He 
knew that the lad had been standing 
by, while the Astera waited for 
explanation. 

"Maloney," Herrick said huskily. 
"We've fallen into the hands of the 


enemy. Relay my orders to the Third 
Officer. Tell him to show no resistance." 

The Martian captain was right at 
Herrick's shoulder. 

"A boarding party will commandeer 
the Astera inside of another ten min- 
utes," he said. 

Herrick hesitated, flushed with 
shame, choking on the words. But he 
managed. 

"A boarding party, the enemy's, will 
arrive to take over shortly," he said. 
Then, lips compressed, he snapped off 
the screen switch. 

"Thank you, Officer Herrick," the 
Martian captain smiled. "I will per- 
mit you to return to your vessel with 
the men of my boarding party. In 
fact, I'll accompany the party myself." 

Herrick didn't answer. He was think- 
ing: My first command. This is what 
happened to my first command. What 
a fine smear for my record. What a 
rotten blot on the name of Herrickl 
Captured — without having been able 
to fire a shot in our defense! 

The Martian crewmen with the elec- 
tric pistols were prodding Herrick and 
Roberts toward the duralloy ladderway 
that led down from the second bridge 
to the deck. 

The Martian captain walked behind 
them. 

"You can send the crews of your 
lifecraft back to the Astera, Officer 
Herrick. I'll see to it that our own 
crews take you safely aboard your 
vessel." 

Herrick flushed. The Martian cap- 
tain probably realized that he might 
choose to make a fight of it if he got 
back to his command unguarded. Rob- 
erts must have been contemplating this, 
too, for the stocky second officer 
groaned aloud. 

"Take it easy, Jon," Herrick said 
softly. "This isn't all over yet." But 
in his heart he knew the forced brag- 


9 SHIP OF SPACE 


213 


gadocio behind his words . . . 

^/"HEN Herrick stood on the bridge 
of the Astera some ten minutes 
later, it was with two Martians behind 
him, their electric pistols pressed into 
his back. The Martian captain had ac- 
companied the boarding party aboard 
the Astera, and while Herrick's face 
burned with shame, the Martians had 
taken over the ship, 

Martians now stood beside each of 
the nine atomic cannons, having dis- 
placed the bewildered gunners of the 
Astera' s crew. The vessel was quite 
completely in enemy hands. 

"Fine," said the Martian captain. 
"This is quite satisfactory, Officer 
Herrick." 

"What do you intend to do with the 
Astera?" Herrick demanded. 

The captain favored the young offi- 
cer with one of his silken smiles. 

"I am going to keep the Astera just 
as she is," he announced, "until the 
rest of my plans are completed." 

Herrick frowned. 

The captain explained. "When your 
vizagraph operator picked up our dis- 
tress signals it was not as we had 
intended it." 

"I still don't get you," Herrick said. 

"We had no idea that the Astera 
would be patroling this particular space 
area at the time we sent out our decoy 
distress signal. We had hoped to draw 
bigger game — game we knew to be in 
this locality — into our nets," the Mar- 
tian captain declared. 

"You can't mean — " Herrick began. 

"Yes," the captain nodded. "We were 
after the only other Earth Federation 
battlecraft in this locality. We were 
after the gigantic battlewagon, F.S.S. 
New York, the flagship of the Fourth 
Battle Fleet, commanded by your fa- 
ther, Admiral Herrick!" 

Herrick grinned mirthlessly. 


"You're crazy," he said quietly. "The 
New York could crush you with her 
forward guns alone." 

The Captain smiled again. 

"You forget the fact that we are a, 
ah, freighting vessel. Or so, at least, 
it will seem to the officers of the New 
York when they come to our aid." 

Herrick shook his head. 

"Perhaps," he admitted. "But one 
blast from your atomic cannons would 
be your undoing. The New York isn't 
as scantily armed, or as small, as the 
Astera. The New York is even a 
damned sight larger than your 'Q' 
ship." 

"Our information sources are always 
excellent," said the Martian captain. 
"They tipped us off that the New York 
was going to be in this particular space 
zone, and they also gave us the exact 
location of that space battleship's atom- 
ic magazine chambers!" 

Herrick turned white at the corners 
of his mouth. He looked at the Mar- 
tian captain in open horror. 

The captain chuckled. 

"Now you understand, I see. One 
shot at their magazine will blast the 
New York into fragments. Even if we 
only cripple the New York badly by 
that one shot, our 'Q' ship is exceed- 
ingly fast, and prepared to run for it." 

"And now," Herrick was forcing 
himself to speak, forcing himself to 
stall as long as he could, "that the 
Astera botched up your plans by an- 
swering the distress signal intended for 
the New York, just how do you intend 
to get my father's battleship here?" 

The Martian captain spread his 
hands easily. 

"It is a simple matter," he stated. 
"I am going to instruct you to send 
out a message to the New York, di- 
rectly from the vizagraph room of the 
Astera, asking for additional aid to our, 
ah, poor, helpless Junovian freighter." 


214 


AMAZING STORIES 


"That's ridiculous!" Herrick blazed. 

"What have you to say about it?" 
the captain smiled. "Our men are in 
control of the Astera completely. Real- 
ly, Captain Herrick, I don't think you 
fully appreciate the embarrassment of 
your position." 

"You damned rott — " Herrick began 
in sudden blazing wrath. 

The captain stepped in quickly and 
caught him an open-handed blow across 
the face. Then Herrick's rage exploded 
into a furious flashing ball of flame. 
He leaped forward, reaching for the 
Martian's throat. Something crashed 
into the back of his skull, and a thou- 
sand dancing sparks pinwheeled around 
in his brain as blackness covered 
him . . . 

COMEONE was jerking Herrick 
roughly to his feet, slapping his 
face briskly in an effort to bring him 
back to consciousness. 

Herrick opened his eyes dazedly. He 
was staring into the face of the Mar- 
tian captain. 

"Sorry I lost my temper, Officer 
Herrick," the Martian smiled. "One 
of my stupid crew bashed you on the 
back of the skull. It was thoughtless 
of him, I assure you." 

Looking down, Herrick saw that Jon 
Roberts lay in a small pool of blood 
on the bridge deck in the corner. His 
white tunic was stained with the crim- 
son that ringed his head. 

The Martian captain jerked a thumb 
toward Roberts. "He's not dead," he 
remarked. "My men were even rougher 
with him when he tried to aid you in 
your stupid attack on me." 

Herrick fought back a wild impulse 
to strike out again, for he knew it 
would be futile. He licked the blood 
away from his lips. 

"During your, ah, slumbers, Officer 
Herrick," the captain was saying, "I 


took it upon myself to search through 
your vizagraph log. The messages con- 
tained there were exceptionally inter- 
esting. The last message, particularly. 
I believe you are to be congratulated." 
He held forth a sheet of electrotyped 
vizagraph message. 

Dazedly, Herrick took it. His eyes 
scanned it, unseeing. 

"Evidently you are the father of 
triplets, Officer Herrick. My congrat- 
ulations to you and your wife. A pity 
that you can't be with her." 

Herrick could only blink, and he 
fastened his gaze on the message again. 
The words jumped on the page, but 
they were clear enough to read. 

"Communication from doctor to Of- 
ficer Herrick. Delivery quite success- 
ful. Myra has the honor of being the 
mother of three babies. Congratula- 
tions. Myra doing fine." 

Herrick looked up at the Martian 
captain again, his jaw still agape, his 
face a picture of turbulent emotional 
stress. 

The captain had another sheet of 
paper in his hand. Vaguely, Herrick 
was aware that it was the message of 
inquiry about Myra which he'd re- 
ceived from his father, Admiral Her- 
rick, earlier in the day. 

"Undoubtedly the admiral of the 
Fourth Battle Fleet will be more than 
delighted to know that he is the grand- 
father of triplets," the Martian smiled. 
"You Earthmen are always vitally con- 
cerned with family matters, even when 
on battle duty." 

Herrick was still unable to say a 
word. He was licking the dried blood 
on his lips and rubbing his jaw 
bewilderedly. 

Again the same derisive smile was 
on the Martian captain's face. 

"I can understand your shock, Offi- 
cer Herrick. Coming at a time like 
this, especially. However, it should be 


Q SHIP OF SPACE 


215 


more incentive for you to stay alive 
and refrain from, ah, foolish and glam- 
orous gestures. It would be too bad 
to have those small little tots left 
fatherless so soon, eh?" 

Herrick's jaw was grim, and he glared 
hotly at the Martian captain. 

"You'll regret this," he blazed. 
"You'll regret this in Hell!" 

The Martian captain revealed his 
white teeth in a mocking grin. 

"Perhaps. However, we have work 
to do, Officer Herrick. I want you to 
send a vizagraph to your father's ship, 
the N ew York. I want you to tell him 
that you are standing by a distressed 
Junovian freighter, badly in need of 
aid, and that additional assistance from 
his ship is absolutely vital." 

"Go to hell," Herrick said evenly. 

"You forget the situation," the Mar- 
tian captain said ominously. "It would 
be wise to do as I say. For the sake 
of your newly born infants, if not for 
yourself." 

LJERRICK seemed to waver for the 
slightest instant. Then, slowly, he 

said: 

"It won't do you any good. Such a 
message could come from any ship any- 
where in this area of space. The New 
York wouldn't fall into such a lure." 

"You will send the message per- 
sonally," the Martian captain said 
evenly. "And to add complete authen- 
ticity to it, you will mention the fact 
that your father is now a grandfather. 
When Admiral Herrick learns that you 
are the father of triplets he will cer- 
tainly know the message to be 
authentic." 

Herrick glared indecisively. 

"You are in no position to refuse," 
the Martian captain reminded him. 

Herrick's shoulders suddenly 
slumped. 

"Very well," he mumbled. The life 


and spirit of the young officer seemed 
to be crushed completely from him. 
It was as if he'd surrendered to cir- 
cumstances that were too great for any 
one man to overcome. 

The Martian captain pointed to the 
message table on the bridge. 

"You can compose your message 
there," he ordered. "Give your posi- 
tion, explain that additional aid is 
needed immediately, and add that very 
personal touch." 

Herrick sat down before the mes- 
sage table. He began to write slowly. 
He tore up one sheet of paper and 
started again. This time his words were 
faster, more certain. He stood up, fin- 
ished, and handed the sheet to the 
Martian captain. 

The Martian captain read the mes- 
sage, nodding. 

"Good, position is correct. Appeal 
for additional help is quite convincing. 
And that last, 'Myra has had triplets. 
You are a grandfather! Congratula- 
tions,' is quite authentically appealing." 
He smiled, handing the sheet to one of 
his men. "Have our vizagraph operator 
send this on the Astera's machine im- 
mediately," he ordered. 

The Martian orderly was at the door 
of the bridge when the captain stopped 
him. 

"A moment," he said. "Have the 
operator signal our 'Q' ship to raise 
the decoy superstructure again. Tell 
them not to forget to fly the Junovian 
ensign." 

The orderly was gone, and the Mar- 
tian captain turned to young Herrick. 

"In another few moments your fa- 
ther's vessel will be heading full rockets 
into our trap, and the 'Q' ship will 
once again look like a dirty tramp 
space freighter." 

Herrick said nothing. He was 
slumped against the back bulkhead of 
the bridge. 


216 


AMAZING STORIES 


"Why, Officer Herrick," the Mar- 
tian captain mocked, "you look ill." 

Which description fitted young Her- 
rick perfectly . . . 

A T precisely eleven-eleven, interplan- 
etary time, some six hours after 
the message had been sent from the 
Astera, the great space battlewagon, 
F.S.S. New York came majestically 
into view of the vizascreens of both 
the Astera and the ominously waiting 
"Q" ship. 

Junior Officer Herrick stood on the 
bridge of the Astera, beside a ban- 
daged and still somewhat bloody Jon 
Roberts. The two young officers were 
wordlessly watching the exultation that 
flooded the features of the Martian 
captain who stood before the screen. 

"She comes," said the captain, turn- 
ing from the screen. "And so unsus- 
pecting!" 

Herrick looked at Roberts, and there 
was something unfathomable in the 
glances they exchanged. 

"It is a pity," added the Martian 
captain regretfully, "that my men 
weren't experienced enough with the 
guns on the Astera to turn them against 
the New York. That would have been 
delightful additional irony." 

Herrick wet his lips. 

"So delightful," he mimicked dryly. 

The Martian captain disregarded 
this. 

"Five minutes more and they will 
be in range for the shot at their mag- 
azine," he said eagerly. 

Jon Roberts nudged Herrick slightly, 
pointing with his eyes at the picture 
of the New York in the vizascreen. The 
great long range atomic guns on that 
battlewagon were being elevated into 
firing position. Something which ap- 
parently escaped the attention of the 
excited Martian "Q" ship captain.- 

"Four minutes," the Martian cap- 


tain said. 

The guns of the battlewagon New 
York moved slightly right and slightly 
left, almost imperceptibly. This time 
Herrick nudged Roberts. His throat 
felt stuffed with cotton. His heart ham- 
mered wildly. 

"Three minutes," said the Martian 
captain. 

And then the vizascreen was oblit- 
erated by the orange bursts which 
issued from the vessel pictured on it. 
Orange bursts puffing from atomic long 
range cannons. 

The atomic bolts were flashing over- 
head in the next instant. Shooting 
overhead as a terrific explosion occurred 
five hundred yards off from the Astera 
and the "Q" ship rocked like a leaf in 
a gale. The New York, firing before 
the Martian decoy vessel could get 
range, had scored five direct hits on 
the target! 

And Herrick and Roberts were div- 
ing toward the Martian captain and 
his two orderlies at the same instant. 

Herrick got the captain, his shoul- 
der crashing into the bewildered fel- 
low's legs, spilling him back against 
the solid duralloy surface of the bridge 
bulkhead. The captain went limp in 
his arms, out cold. 

Then Herrick was on his feet, while 
more atomic shell bursts plunged into 
the "Q" ship, jumping into Roberts' 
battle with the two orderlies. It was 
short work before those two were quite 
willing to quit. 

Junior Officers Herrick and Roberts 
had regained mastery of the Ast era's 
bridge. 

And now, looking out across the 
intervening distance between the As- 
tera and the "Q" ship, Herrick could 
see that the New York's long range 
cannon had made short work of the 
Martian decoy craft. The situation was 
very well in hand, even to the fighting 


Q SHIP OF SPACE 


217 


down on the decks of the Astera itself, 
where the A stem's officers and crew — 
realizing that the New York had res- 
cued them — were mopping up on the 
Martians who'd been left to guard them. 

Junior Officer Herrick grinned with 
honest pride at the spirit of his men. 
He threw an arm around his second- 
in-command's plump shoulder and 
watched the final rout . . . 

T^HE job of questioning the Martian 
captives fell to young Junior Offi- 
cer Herrick, after the remnants of the 
charred "Q" ship were searched and 
the survivors removed. 

Particularly interesting to young 
Herrick was his conversation in the 
brig with the Martian captain, whose 
only wound of the route was a severe 
bump on the back of his black -headed 
skull. 

And when Herrick had drained what 
information he could from the enemy 
captain, that worthy had a few pained 
questions to put to his inquisitor. 

"How," he moaned feebly, "did your 
father realize that something out of 
the ordinary was going on in respect 
to the Astera? That message left 
no cause for doubt on his part. 
Especially — " 


Herrick cut in, grinning widely. This 
was going to be enjoyable. 

"When you discovered the corre- 
spondence between my father and I 
concerning Myra and the fact that 
she was about to give birth — and when 
you found the communication from 
the doctor stating she'd had triplets, 
you couldn't be blamed for jumping 
at the conclusions you did. So I let 
you go right ahead." 

"But — " began the Martian captain. 

"In the message," Herrick cut in 
again, "I congratulated my father on 
being a grandfather, adding that Myra 
had had triplets." 

"But how could your wife's having 
tr— " the Martian captain began again. 

Again Herrick cut him off. 

"Although my father was very much 
concerned over Myra's condition," he 
said, "that didn't mean that Myra was 
my wife. As a matter of fact, everyone 
was concerned over Myra's condition. 
You see, Myra is a Cheshire cat. Myra 
is, in fact, the beloved mascot of the 
Fourth Battle Fleet. You couldn't 
blame any admiral for being suspicious 
when he's accused in an official dis- 
patch of being the grandfather of three 
kittens!" 

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Veya Mallon knew hex father 
wasn't a traitor, so she blasted 
spaceward to prove it— right into 
a hornet's nest of conspirators 


THERE was a 
tense, painful 
silence in the 
chromium and duraglass 
office as Space Commander 
Wilson finally glanced up from the 
reports which littered his metal desk. 

His eyes shifted from the tall, blonde, 
red-tuniced lieutenant who stood at 
attention before his desk, to the small 
lovely girl who was seated on the edge 
of a steel chair, hands clenched 
anxiously. 

His kindly, deeply lined face softened 
in unspoken sympathy as he dropped 
his gaze back to the papers spread 
before him. 

"I'm terribly sorry, Miss Mallon," 
he said quietly, "but there is nothing 
in the official report to substantiate 
your claim. Believe me, I'm as anxious 
as you are to clear your father's name. 
Unfortunately, the facts point conclu- 
sively to his guilt. It is impossible to 


change the verdict on the strength of 
your suspicions." 

Veya Mallon sprang to her feet angri- 
ly, every line of her slim, supple body 
expressing her emotion. 

"Oh how can I make you see that 
you are being very unfair!" she cried. 
"You know — you must know, that he 
wasn't a traitor. He just couldn't be. 
And yet you don't raise a finger to try 
to find some evidence that will clear 
his name." 

She paused a moment, bit her lip, 
then went on. 

"My father was killed," she said 
bitterly, "because the information he 
possessed would have incriminated 
some Earth officer as a traitor. For 
that reason he was murdered. Papers 
were planted on him to make it look 
as if he were in the pay of the Martian 
Federation. On his last trip to Base 
Ten he discovered the information he 
had been tracking down for years. But 


220 


AMAZING STORIES 


before he could get back to Earth, he 
was killed. The story about him run- 
ning from a Martian ship and being 
killed in the battle is an out-and-out 
lie. You knew my father, Commander 
Wilson. He never ran from an enemy 
ship in his life." 

Wilson passed a hand wearily oyer 
his tired eyes. 

"Veya, my dear," he said huskily, 
"your father was my closest friend. 
I knew him as a courageous space fight- 
er, without an ounce of fear in his 
makeup. But from all the evidence, 
it is dead certain that he did run from 
the Martian ship on his last flight. 
Undoubtedly he did so rather than risk 
a general battle that might attract other 
of our space fighters to the scene. Since 
he was carrying enemy instructions on 
his person at the time, he couldn't risk 
any chance of detection from our force. 

"As much as I wished it were other- 
wise, the facts are definite. I have 
checked and rechecked them person- 
ally. There is no possibility of any 
mistake. Your father was in the pay 
of Mars, a traitor to Earth. Ironically 
enough, he was killed running from 
a Martian ship. I'm sorry, my dear, 
but that is the final verdict." 

Veya Mallon turned appealing eyes 
to the tall lieutenant. 

"Lieutenant Vickers," she said im- 
ploringly. "Couldn't you have made 
a mistake, somehow, somewhere? 
Couldn't it have been some other ship 
you saw running before the Martian 
cruiser?" 

Lieutenant Vickers' boyish face 
twisted miserably. 

"I wish I were mistaken, Vey — 
Miss Mallon," he said steadily. "But 
when the two ships flashed past my 
visi-screen I had a side-on view of 
your father's ship and the markings 
were unmistakable. I started after 
them, but it was twenty minutes before 


I sighted either ship again. Then it 
was your father's, drifting out of con- 
trol. I boarded his ship and found 
him lying dead. In his uniform pocket 
were the papers from the Martian Fed- 
eration. It was my duty to turn them 
in, and I did." 

yEYA MALLON'S pale features 
hardened. Her dark eyes flashed 
angrily at the two men. 

"My father was not a coward or 
a traitor," she cried desperately. "I 
know that and so do both of you. But 
still you'll stand by and see his name 
dishonored because you're afraid to 
dig into the rotten mess that caused 
his death. Well, I'm not afraid. I'm 
going to shout his innocence so loud 
that someone will have to listen to me. 
And before I'm through I'll find out 
who framed him and killed him. I'll 
do that, even if it means my own life." 

Trembling with anger Veya spun on 
her heel and started for the door. 

Lieutenant Vickers moved to inter- 
cept her. 

"Veya," he said pleadingly, "please 
listen—" 

Veya Mallon jerked a small diamond 
ring from her finger and dropped it 
at his feet. 

"Please don't speak to me again," 
she said. 

Then she stepped through the door. 

Lieutenant Tom Vickers stood still 
for a silent instant, the blood draining 
from his face. Then he stooped slowly 
and picked up the ring from the floor 
and stared at it dazedly. 

"I'm sorry, son," Commander Wil- 
son said kindly. "All of this has been 
a terrible strain on Veya and you must 
be patient with her. She's overwrought, 
nervous, emotionally shocked by her 
father's death. Time is the only thing 
that will help her." 

Tom Vickers stared blindly at the 


MYSTERY ON BASE TEN 


221 


ring in his hands. 

"Th-thanks, sir," he said brokenly. 
"But I'm afraid the only thing that 
will ever change Veya is the exonera- 
tion of her father's name. And that's 
impossible. I hated to testify as I did, 
but it was the only course open to me. 
I've wished a thousand times that I 
might have been looking the other way 
when his ship flashed across my screen, 
but I wasn't." 

Commander Wilson nodded slowly. 

"It's hard on you, boy," he said 
quietly, "but you must try and make 
her understand your position in the 
affair. And it might be a good idea if 
you'd attempt to convince her that her 
father actually was guilty. As hard 
as that will be for her to accept, it will 
be easier for her in the long run to 
realize that he was guilty. Then she 
can adjust herself to the facts and try 
and forget them. Her present resentful 
attitude will only make her more mis- 
erable, more sensitive and nervous." 

"I'll do what I can," Vickers said 
shrugging, "but I'm afraid I'll get no- 
where. For the past week I've tried 
'to reason with her, but that only seems 
to make her more determined that he 
wasn't guilty." 

Commander Wilson looked thought- 
ful. 

"In that case," he said, "it might 
be best not to antagonize her by fur- 
ther efforts to prove her father's guilt. 
I think it would be best if we say 
nothing more to her on the subject. 
She has made up her mind. We can't 
change it. She'll have to do that 
herself." 

"Yes, sir," Vickers said. "If you 
don't need me any more, Commander, 
I'd like a forty-eight hours' leave to 
sort of straighten myself out again." 

"Certainly, my boy," Commander 
Wilson said heartily. "Take all the 
time you want. When you feel right, 


come back. Not before." 

Vickers thanked him and left the 
office. 

QTJTSIDE he stared unseeingly at 
the vast, sprawling space field, 
with its dozens of mooring towers and 
expulsion tubes, repair pits and check- 
ing offices. Freight, atomically con- 
densed, was rolling into the holds of 
the mighty freight cruisers to be car- 
ried to the farthest limits of the solar 
system. Fighting and scout ships were 
hissing into the void from expulsion 
tubes every minute or so, blasting 
through the cold darkness of space to 
their allotted lanes and schedules. Ev- 
erything was orderly confusion and 
efficient speed. 

Vickers had grown up with scenes 
like this before him, almost a part of 
his own nature. Something he loved 
with an affection that was as vast as 
the void. But now it soured in his 
mouth. Everything, somehow, had lost 
its meaning, when Veya had dropped 
his ring contemptuously at his feet. 

He realized that all he had worked 
for had been for her benefit. With 
her, everything and anything had been 
glorious. Without her, it was all point- 
less and futile. 

And there was absolutely nothing he 
could do about it. 

He turned and walked moodily along 
the ramp until he reached the small 
office that recorded the movement of 
ships in and out of the vast terminal. 
A small, fussy-looking man in the door- 
way saw him and waved. 

"Want to see you," the little man 
said. "Veya Mallon just left from tube 
22 in your single-seater. Said you said 
it was all right. Irregular as the very 
devil, but I let her go. Want you to 
sign a clearance form for your ship." 

"Veya Mallon," Vickers said un- 
believingly. "You say she left in my 


222 


AMAZING STORIES 


ship?" 

"That's right," the little man snap- 
ped. "Anything wrong with that? I 
knowed you two was practically one. 
Didn't bother to check with you." 

"It's okay," Vickers said, and signed 
the clearance form. "Did you say tube 
22?" 

"Yep. She arced out not more than 
a minute ago." 

Worried, Vickers hurried along the 
ramp until he reached the conical base 
of expulsion tube 22. He couldn't imag- 
ine why Veya had taken his ship. Feel- 
ing as she did about him, it wasn't 
logical. But maybe it was the only 
way she could get a ship. He knew 
she didn't have one of her own. But 
what destination was so important to 
her, that she had to practically steal 
a ship to get there. That was what 
worried him. 

He grabbed the first rocket man he 
bumped into. 

"Were you here when Miss Mallon 
left?" he demanded. 

"Yes, sir," the mechanic replied, stif- 
fening to attention. "She just left, Lieu- 
tenant. She took a course twenty-two 
degrees off normal arc using full power. 
Destination Interplanetary Base Ten." 

Base Ten! That was the base which 
had figured so prominently in the tes- 
timony against Veya's father. He had 
been reported leaving Base Ten when 
the Martian raider caught him. Veya 
had said repeatedly that it was on Base 
Ten that her father had discovered the 
plot against Earth. According to Veya 
the evidence proved that several Earth 
officers were involved in the conspiracy. 

Base Ten was a dangerous hell-hole, 
rotten with intrigue and espionage, and 
no place at all for a hot-headed young 
girl. Interplanetary law kept it open as 
a free base between Mars and Earth 
and it had become a cauldron of trou- 
ble, harboring the suspicious characters 


of both planets and offering a fertile 
field to free-lance agents from the other 
members of the solar system. If Veya 
was heading for Base Ten, she was 
heading for trouble. 

"Anything wrong, Lieutenant?" the 
mechanic asked respectfully. 

"I hope not," Vickers answered. "I'll 
be back in about ten minutes, and I'll 
need a ship ready to go. Set it for 
Base Ten and have it sparking when 
I return." 

The mechanic jumped to his job, 
and Vickers wheeled and headed for 
Commander Wilson's office. He en- 
tered without knocking. 

/COMMANDER Wilson looked up, 
surprised, as Vickers barged in. 

"What's up?" he demanded. 

"Veya Mallon has just left for Base 
Ten," Vickers replied. "She took my 
ship, evidently with some idea of dis- 
covering proof of her father's innocence 
there. I'd like your permission, sir, to 
follow her and see that she isn't in- 
volved in any trouble. Base Ten is 
a dangerous spot for a young girl with 
ideas like Veya's in her head. I feel, 
somehow, responsible for her safety." 

Commander Wilson stood up and 
ran a hand through his graying hair. 
He walked to the huge side window 
of his office and stared worriedly over 
the sprawling space field. 

"Base Ten, eh?" he muttered irri- 
tably. "Silly girl should have had better 
sense than to head there." 

"Then it's all right with you, sir, 
if I leave immediately?" 

Commander Wilson turned from the 
window, tugging anxiously at his lower 
lip. 

"Vickers," he said gravely, "I can- 
not grant you permission to follow 
Veya Mallon. We need you here, on 
hand for any emergency that might 
develop. While I think a great deal 


MYSTERY ON BASE TEN 


223 


of Veya myself, we can't let ourselves 
forget that our duty is here, not on 
Base Ten. If I could spare you, I'd 
stretch a point. But as it is, your 
request is impossible. If our space 
pilots were at liberty to chase about 
the void on personal matters, what 
kind of a fleet do you think we'd 
have? With Mars waiting to strike 
at any opening we leave, we can't take 
the chances of weakening any defens- 
ive line." 

"But what about Veya?" Vickers 
exploded. "With the information she 
had about Earth defenses, she'd be a 
ripe plum to fall into the hands of 
Martian agents on Ten." 

"We'll have to take that chance," 
CommanderWilson said quietly. "Earth 
cannot spare space pilots, Lieutenant 
Vickers." 

Vickers felt a hot flood of anger rush- 
ing through him. Maybe it was illogi- 
cal and inconsistent, but he knew, 
somehow, that Veya would need him 
on Base Ten. The thought of her in 
trouble, while he was twiddling his 
thumbs on Earth, was too much for 
him. 

"Commander Wilson," he barked. 
"I'm going to Ten. Call it a hunch or 
something equally silly, but I feel my 
job is there." 

Commander Wilson's features hard- 
ened into stern lines. 

"I gave you an orde'r, Lieutenant 
Vickers," he said, "and I intend that 
it be obeyed. If you leave this space 
field for Base Ten I will flash orders 
to our fighter ships to blast you out of 
the void on sight! You are dismissed." 

A reckless fury was churning Vickers 
now, tipping the scales of caution and 
judgment in his mind. 

"Send your order," he snapped. "But 
it will take more than a fleet of fight- 
ing ships to stop me from getting to 
Ten." 


He turned and sprang to the door. 

"Stop!" Commander Wilson thun- 
dered. His hands dug for the service 
electron gun at his waist, but the door 
had banged shut behind Vickers be- 
fore he could clear it from the holster. 

He stepped quickly to a tele-screen. 

A/1CKERS reached expulsion tube 
22 in a half-minute of furious run- 
ning. The mechanic was waiting for 
him. 

"Everything's ready, sir," he snap- 
ped. "All rockets firing at point two, 
course set dead for Base Ten." 

"Fine," Vickers said breathlessly. 
"Shove the firing pin the minute I seal 
the hatch. I'm in a helluva hurry." 

He clambered up the narrow iron 
steps to the square platform of the 
expulsion tube. Opening the hatch of 
the trim single-seater set in the cham- 
ber of the tube, he was halfway into 
the ship when he heard the sudden 
shout below and behind him. 

Glancing back he saw a half-dozen 
land soldiers racing along the ramp to- 
ward him. One of them, a sergeant in 
the lead, was shouting at the top of his 
voice to the mechanic, who was stand- 
ing before the control panel of the 
expulsion tube. 

"Shove that pin!" Vickers yelled. 

The mechanic paused indecisively, 
looking from the rapidly approaching 
soldiers up to Vickers. 

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant," he said wor- 
riedly, "but there seems to be some- 
thing wrong. I'd better wait and—" 

"Do as you're told ! " Vickers roared. 
"Shove that pin!" 

His voice acted as a stimulant to 
the hesitating mechanic. 

"Right, sir," he snapped briskly. His 
hand slapped the firing pin into posi- 
tion at the same instant that Vickers 
ducked into the ship and banged the 
hatch shut. ' 


224 


AMAZING STORIES 


With a rushing roar the slim single- 
seater flashed out of the tube and 
disappeared into the void, trailing 
sparks the indication of its swift cleav- 
age of Earth's atmosphere. 

Inside the bullet-like, rocketing ship, 
Vickers seated himself at the controls 
and breathed a sigh of relief. A tenth 
of a second delay then, and he would 
have been in the hands of Wilson's 
land soldiers. He checked the con- 
trols with a quick, practised eye, 
glanced at the wide visi-screen, and 
then settled down for the long trip 
to Base Ten. He realized with sharp 
clarity that his actions would break 
him forever with the Earth space fleet, 
but he forced this thought from his 
mind. The only thing he wanted to 
think of now was Veya. As long as 
she was safe, everything else was all 
right. If she wasn't — He hunched 
his big shoulders forward, and jammed 
the auxiliary rocket lever into place. 
Under this emergency power the flash- 
ing ship shot ahead with a spine- 
jarring spurt . . . 

npWENTY-THREE hours later, 
Vickers moored at Base Ten. The 
red-and-gold insignia on the cowling 
of his ship gave him mooring prefer- 
ence over the pleasure and commercial 
ships which were waiting. 

When he climbed out of his ship 
and descended the ladder, two officers 
of the Base were waiting for him. 

For an instant a cold hand of fear 
closed over his stomach. If Commander 
Wilson had flashed a message to the 
base headquarters, it would be all over 
with him now. 

"Welcome, Lieutenant," one of them 
said cordially. "Any special reason for 
the visit, or are you just gallivanting 
around for the fun of it?" 

"Hardly," Vickers said easily. He 
was almost trembling with relief, but 


he forced his voice to disguise his 
emotion. "Just a routine trip. You 
haven't heard from Commander Wil- 
son lately, have you?" he asked, as 
casually as he could. 

The senior officer, a red-faced, 
stocky, second lieutenant, shook his 
head. 

"Not a word for the last two days. 
Suits us here. The quieter things are, 
the better we like it," he smiled. 

Vickers smiled too. So far he still 
had a free hand. 

"By the way," he asked, "has Miss 
Veya Mallon moored here today? I 
think she was expected up this way." 

The second lieutenant nodded. 

"She pulled in about six minutes 
ahead of you, Lieutenant. Too bad 
that a nice kid like that should have 
a father who'd sell out to the enemy." 

"Which way did she go?" Vickers 
asked, trying to cloak his impatience. 

The red-faced junior officer 
pondered. 

"I was standing here," he said, 
scratching his head, "when she walked 
by me from the other mooring tower. 
I think a couple of guys met her, and 
she left with them." 

"Did you know them?" Vickers 
asked quickly. 

The officer shook his head. 

"There's too many bums here on 
Ten for me to remember all of them. 
But I think I saw one of the fellows 
hanging around the Interplanetary 
Hotel a few nights ago, but I can't 
be sure. Every double-crossing sabo- 
teur and spy in the business hangs out 
there. It'll be a fine day when we 
clean that place out for good." 

"The Interplanetary Hotel," Vickers 
murmured. "That's third layer, south, 
isn't it?" 

"Yes, sir. Why? You interested in 
somebody over there?" 

"I might be," Vickers said grimly. 


MYSTERY ON BASE TEN 


225 


"I just might be." 

He nodded to the two officers and 
started off. They saluted as he passed 
them and strode down the ramp to 
the exit gates of the space field. 

■\XrHEN he reached the Interplan- 
etary Hotel an hour or so later, 
he ordered a drink of Saturn squeelah,* 
and did a bit of serious thinking. 

The officer had been sure that Veya 
had been met at the space field. No 
one could have known she was coming, 
but still, somehow, someone had man- 
aged to pick up the information and 
meet her as she arrived. i 

A worried frown cut a furrow across 
his brow. 

There was no doubt in his mind 
that Veya had stumbled into some- 
thing dangerous. The men who met 
her obviously would lull her suspi- 
cions with some plausible story until 
she was too deep to turn back. Why 
she had been picked up was a ques- 
tion he couldn't readily answer. Neither 
did he have any idea of who had 
ordered her met at the space field. 
But he was sure that they had met 
her for a reason, and it was a million 
to one that that reason would explain 
a lot of the peculiar questions which 
were bothering him. 

He finished his drink and was turn- 
ing from the automatic liquor dispen- 
sary when he saw a small, swarthy 
man hurrying past him, holding a hand- 
kerchief to his cheek. The man crossed 
the side foyer and disappeared through 
a small door that led, Vickers knew, 
to a first aid station. 

Curious, Vickers waited until the 
man reappeared. There was a strange 
tingling sensation at the base of his 

* Squeelah — a potent drink fermented from the 
carnivorous plant forms that exist in great abun- 
dance on the dank planet of Saturn. It is green 
in color, bittersweet in taste and TNT if imbibed 
in quantity.— Ed. 


spine as he saw the long, thin scratch 
that ran down the man's cheek. 

For a brief second he hesitated as 
the somberly dressed, swarthy man hur- 
ried back across the foyer and made 
for the elatubes. Then he turned and 
ambled carelessly after him. But when 
he reached the elatube the door had 
already clicked and the car had rock- 
eted upward on its mile flight. 

Vickers waited impatiently for the 
car to return. Some sixth sense harried 
him, raised the hackles at the base of 
his neck. There seemed to be some 
vague pattern to everything that had 
happened, but the exact design of it 
eluded him. He felt as if he were in a 
labyrinth of strange motives and ac- 
tions, and if he could find the right path 
to follow it would lead directly to the 
heart of the puzzle. 

And it was a puzzle. He appreciated 
that with greater force as each instant 
slipped past. Looking back he could 
see the puzzle. But he knew he would 
have to look forward and move forward 
to find the key. 

When the elatube car returned he 
called the operator to him. 

"A friend of mine got into your car, 
but the door closed before I could hail 
him," he said easily. "I wonder if you 
remember what level he got off on? He 
was a small fellow with a sallow com- 
plexion and a fresh scar on his cheek. 
Remember him?" 

The elatube operator scratched his 
head, then nodded. 

"Got off on the sixth level, twentieth 
floor. Seemed kind of mad about some- 
thing. I guess he's the one you mean." 

Vickers thanked him and stepped 
into the elatube car. 

"Sixth level," he said, "twentieth 
floor. I think I'll surprise my friend." 

'"pHE elatube operator set the con- 
trols and the car ascended swiftly. 


AMAZING STORIES 


It covered the trip in a half a minute. 
Vickers stepped out of the car and 
moved down the wide aluminum corri- 
dor, glancing at the doors on either side 
of him. 

Within a dozen feet he stopped. He 
had no way of knowing what room the 
swarthy man occupied. It would have 
to be discovered by trial and error. 

He selected a door and knocked 
sharply. 

A middle-aged woman answered. 

"I'm looking for my two friends," 
Vickers explained to her questioning 
look. "But I don't have their room 
number. I thought perhaps I could 
save myself a trip back down to the 
desk by inquiring for them. One of 
them is small and dark with short, 
black hair and narrow eyes. Do you 
remember anyone like that on this 
floor?" 

The woman jerked a thumb to her 
right. 

"Down two doors from me," she said 
ungraciously. "And tell 'em not to be 
making such a fuss. A hour or so ago 
you'd think they was staging a wras- 
sling match in there." 

Vickers hands clenched. 

"Thanks," he snapped. There was 
a tight feeling across his shoulders as 
he strode down the corridor past one 
door and stopped at the next. 

He knew there was no time for any- 
thing but direct action. He pounded 
on the door with the heavy palm of his 
hand. 

There was a complete silence inside 
the room for almost a minute, then 
Vickers heard cautious footsteps ap- 
proaching the door. A bolt clicked and 
the door opened a few inches. 

Vickers stared through the crack and 
recognized the swarthy man he had fol- 
lowed from the foyer peering out at 
him. 

"Whadda you want?" the swarthy 


man growled. But Vickers noticed his 
beady eyes moving furtively over the 
red tunic of the Earth space fleet he 
was wearing. 

"I want in," Vickers snapped. He 
placed his palm against the door and 
shoved hard. The door swung inward 
under his weight and the swarthy little 
man flew backward almost sprawling to 
the floor. 

"What's the idea?" he panted fear- 
fully. 

Vickers shot a quick glance about 
the room. Another man was rising 
from a chair, a look of mingled surprise 
and fear stamped on his face. There 
was no one else in the luxuriously fur- 
nished room. 

"I just have a few questions I want 
answered," he said softly. "First of 
all where did you get that scratch on 
your face?" 

"What business is it of yours?" the 
swarthy man snarled. 

"Maybe none," Vickers said, still 
quietly. "But it might be just my busi- 
ness. If you'd rather talk without your 
front teeth just keep stalling." 

"I fell," the swarthy man said surlily. 
"My face got scraped on the edge of a 
chair. Anything else you want to 
know?" 

"Yes," Vickers said. "Just one thing 
more. Where is Veya Mallon?" 

^JpHE words had hardly left his mouth 
before he knew they had scored. 
Both men started convulsively, then 
their hands dug frantically for their 
pockets. 

Vickers sprang forward, his right fist 
smashing into the swarthy man's face 
with the force of a pile-driver. The 
man went flying backward, his face 
broken beyond recognition by the 
power of the sledge-hammer punch. 
He crashed to the floor, twitched once 
and was still. 


MYSTERY ON BASE TEN 


227 


Vickers wheeled and charged for the 
other man, whose electron gun was just 
clearing his pocket. The gun exploded 
with a vicious hiss as Vickers' heavy 
shoulder slammed into the man's stom- 
ach. 

The force of his tackle hurled the 
man backward into the wall. His head 
snapped into its steel-hard surface with 
a sickening crunch. The gun slipped 
from nerveless fingers as the man dou- 
bled and dropped to the floor, a soggy 
red ooze plastering the back of his 
head. 

Vickers scrambled to his feet and 
strode to the closet. The door was 
bolted, but he snapped the lock with 
a powerful drive of his shoulders. The 
door swung inward and Vickers heard 
an inarticulate moan from the darkness 
of the closet. 

Dropping to his knees he found 
Veya's bound form doubled up in a 
corner. He lifted her in his arms and 
carried her carefully to the bed. 

There was a nasty bruise on her pale 
forehead, but she was not unconscious. 
He ripped the gag from her mouth, with 
fingers that trembled with rage. 

"I prayed you'd come,' she gasped 
weakly. "It was a trap, but I didn't 
realize it soon enough." 

"Don't talk," Vickers said sooth- 
ingly. 

He untied the bonds from her wrists 
and ankles and then chafed her arms 
until the circulation was restored. 

"Tom," Veya said faintly. "I've dis- 
covered everything I needed. In the 
drawer of the desk here are the papers 
that my father was bringing back to 
Earth when he was killed. That was 
why he was killed. Because of what 
those papers and documents would 
mean when they were presented on 
Earth." 

Vickers stepped to the desk and 
opened the drawer. A folio of papers 


in a leather case was inside. He re- 
moved it and sat down again beside 
Veya. 

For fifteen minutes he pored through 
the documents in the leather case, and 
when he finished there was an incred- 
ulous look on his face. 

"It's positively incredible," he mut- 
tered. "Now I can see the whole scene. 
Your father discovered these and 
started back to Earth with them. The 
Martians discovered their absence and 
started after him. Your father de- 
cided to run for it, rather than fight, be- 
cause he didn't want to take any 
chances with these documents in his 
possession. But they caught him, crip- 
pled his ship, boarded it and killed 
him. Then they recovered these pa- 
pers and planted other ones on your 
father to make it look as if he were the 
traitor." 

"It's all horribly clear," Veya said 
shuddering. "But why did they have 
to plant the other papers on him? He 
was dead and beyond hurting them 
then. They had these papers back in 
their possession. Why was it neces- 
sary to make him appear to be a 
traitor?" 

"It was a devilishly clever move," 
Vickers said slowly, "to invalidate and 
discredit any of your father's papers 
which might subsequently have been 
brought to light. They didn't know 
but what he might have had other data 
and records of a damning nature hid- 
den in his own files. If anything like 
that turned up they were prepared for 
it. Because a convicted traitor's rec- 
ords would have little or no weight in 
any military court. But these records 
in this leather case are absolutely con- 
clusive. You're father's name will be 
cleared and the real traitor will face a 
firing squad." 

"I don't think so!" a muffled voice 
said behind them. 


AMAZING STORIES 


■VnCKERS wheeled and saw a tall, 
masked figure standing in the door- 
way, an electron gun held unwaveringly 
in his hand. A black cloak completely 
concealed the masked man's body, 
down to the knees. 

"Without those papers," the curi- 
ously muffled voice went on, "your case 
will be declared ridiculous. So I'll trou- 
ble you for the leather case." 

"You can't get away with this," 
Vickers said bitterly. 

"I'm the best judge of that," the muf- 
fled voice said mockingly. 

Vickers stood up, the leather case in 
his hands. He stepped forward and ex- 
tended the case to the masked figure, 
who reached for it avidly, his eyes glit- 
teringly triumphantly behind the con- 
cealing mask. 

His hand touched it, and at the same 
instant a spiteful hiss cracked through 
the room. The masked figure turned 
slowly and Vickers saw a round, black 
hole burned through the cloth of his 
cape, just below his heart. For an in- 
stant he staggered in the doorway and 
then he collapsed to the floor. 

Vickers wheeled and saw Veya sit- 
ting up in bed, an electron gun clenched 
tightly in both her hands. Her face 
was white with horror. 

"I did it," she whispered. "When 
he reached for the case he wasn't watch- 
ing me. There was a gun lying on the 
floor. I picked it up and shot him." 

"It's all right, honey," Vickers said 


tenderly. He put his arm around her 
shoulder and held her close to him. "He 
deserved it if any man ever did. He 
had your father murdered and framed 
to appear a traitor, while all the while 
he was directly in the pay of Mars, as 
these papers here prove beyond a 
doubt." 

Vickers stood up and stepped to the 
masked figure, lying sprawled in death 
on the floor. Reaching down he ripped 
off the mask, exposing the face of the 
dead man. 

It was Commander Wilson. 

"I should have been suspicious," 
Vickers said, "when he refused to let 
me follow you here to Ten. When I 
left anyway, he flashed his agents here 
to meet and get rid of you. Then he fol- 
lowed himself to make sure that noth- 
ing slipped up. But everyone slips some- 
times, and he was no exception. His 
death will clear your father's name." 

"It's terrible," Veya said softly, 
"that any man could betray his own 
planet like that." 

"The reward of the traitor is always 
death," Vickers said grimly. 

"Not always," Veya said shyly. "I 
was a traitor to our love when I lost 
faith in you, wasn't I? And I'm still 
alive." 

Vickers grinned and took her in his 
arms and kissed her emphatically. 

"You missed the death sentence," he 
said, "but you're convicted to life im- 
prisonment in my arms." 


HOUR GLASS IN THE DESERT 


TN PERU, mysterious country of the Incas, 
exists one peculiar phenomenon that is almost 
too amazing to be of natural origin. It is the 
famous walking half-moons of La Joya. These 
crescent-shaped sand dunes are about one hundred 
feet high and fifteen feet wide and they are of 
such exact and unvarying shape that no human 
agency could make them more perfect. 

But scientists have determined that the constant, 
changeless winds that sweep these plateaus are 
responsible for these peculiar formations. The 
wind always blowing from one direction, sweeps 


the light colored sand up the convex side of the 
crescent, and from there it drifts down into the 
hollow side to form the mathematically perfect 
half-moons. Furthermore these dunes creep across 
the desert with the regularity of a Swiss watch. 
Each year the constant wind moves them along 
an even fifty feet. 

Thus by this natural phenomenon the years of 
ancient and inscrutable Peru are marked plainly 
and accurately, from Pizarro to the present. Hour 
glasses of sand, operated by nature! 

Fessler Spaulding. 


SCIENTIFIC SLEUTHING 

By JOHN R. HOLMES 


EVER since the invention of the 
Keeler Polygraph, commonly- 
called the "lie detector," the 
newspaper-reading public has grown to 
think of it in vague terms of crime 
confession police work. In spite of the 
fact that the lie detector has been 
proven to work with an accuracy better 
than ninety percent, the general public 
still considers it a sort of unproven fad 
which surprisingly works to the solu- 
tion of a crime now and then. 

But the famous insurance house of 
Lloyd's of London doesn't see eye-to- 
eye with the public misconception of 
the lie detector's value. For it has been 
chiefly through the pressure of Lloyd's 
that the Keeler Polygraph is now widely 
used by banking and business houses. 

For quite a while now some of the 
largest firms in the United States have 
been using the lie detector com- 
mercially. And through use of this 
machine business has profited immea- 
surably in protecting itself against em- 
bezzlements, mysterious inventory 
shrinkages, and petty larcenies. 

When a vast chain store company 
tested all its employees not so very 
long ago — in order to track down seri- 
ous and constant shortages in surplus 
materials — it was discovered that better 
than seventy-five percent of the em- 
ployees in the firm were guilty of pil- 
fering petty cash or small items of 
merchandise. But none of these were 
fired, for the test was given each em- 
ployee with the understanding that he 
wouldn't be prosecuted for what was 
discovered that time, but that the find- 
ings of the next test, to be given six 
months from then, would be acted on 
immediately. When the test was given 


half a year later, petty thieving had 
dropped to a mere two percent ! 

It was against vast indignation and 
protestations of insulted employees that 
the lie detector was first inaugurated 
into business houses. Many of these 
protests were indubitably sincere, mo- 
tivated by sheer indignation at being 
consider capable of criminal action. 
Some of course were prompted by guilt. 
However, it was pointed out to the em- 
ployees that the use of the lie detector 
in firms would also be of advantage to 
innocent employees, by giving them a 
chance to clear themselves of any un- 
fair charges brought against them. This 
proved to be quite true, since many 
thousands of employees have been 
saved from false and unfortunate sus- 
picion through the use of the machines. 

When Lloyd's of London first ad- 
vised the use of lie detector on em- 
ployees of firms they were about to in- 
sure, they started the ball rolling toward 
general adoption of this method. If a 
company used the detectors on its em- 
ployees as Lloyd's suggested, it gen- 
erally found that the famed London 
insurance house was only too glad to 
make substantial reductions in the 
premiums they'd have to pay for money 
loss insurance. 

Now most large companies employ- 
ing men and women who handle money 
constantly have adopted lie detectors as 
standard insurance against loss from 
sticky-fingered workers. Lawyers have 
even had their clients submit to lie de- 
tector tests before taking their cases. 
Many salesmen for diamond concerns, 
coin collectors, and cashiers are also 
similarly scientifically checked on by 
their employees. It's worth while. 




Harry Sates 

YE ED tella me Posterity wants my auto- 
biography (and he cracks his whip. All 
right, 1 know when I'm down.) 
I was born quite young in Pittsburgh and the 
first thing I did was yell in protest. Nobody un- 
derstood, or cared. My second act was to put my 
foot in my mouth. At the time I did this because 
I was a born acrobat and it tasted good; but 
since then I have given the action a great deal of 
thought, and come to the opinion that it was also 
a double-barreled portent, straight from provi- 
dence: first, an indication that I was always to be 
apt at this feat ; and second, a sign that I was to 
make my way by some process of self-consump- 
tion, such as writing. 

I was the darlingtst baby — so they say. I re- 
member how the women loved me. They'd bend 
over my crib, make the silliest faces, say the 
damndest things, I was pretty blooming fat. 
Later, when I was able to go from chair to chair, 
it was hard to tell whether I was walking or roll- 
ing. 

Ah, Happy days of my childhood! 

I was moved to Philadelphia, and as my body 
elongated slowly in one dimension my mind bal- 
looned rapidly all over the neighborhood. I 
passed through grammar school without a falter 
and in my thirteenth year stood composedly 
before the commencement audience and sang a 


powerful love song, to the surprise and edification 
of all. I also was class poet, and wrote the words 
for the class song (with sub rosa help from my 
mother. I won't say how much, but she seemed 
pleased.) I also was voted the second most pop- 
ular boy in the class of thirty, and given .an un- 
derslug briar pipe to prove it. Then, on to high 
school ! 

Ah, high school! 

I slid through three more years there without 
a hitch, never bothering to take a book home, and 
always therefore carrying a five-hour (maximum) 
condition in the previous term's Latin, which con- 
dition, mirabite visit, I was always able to replace 
with a later one in time to go up with my class. 
(Latin is a stupid waste of time.) Three years 
of this, then, horrible dictu, I was flunked. Some 
lousy little one- or two-hour subject jumped on 
the back of my Latin, and together they brought 
me low. There I was, then, a failure at sixteen! 

I had gotten to be a clockmaker and went to 
work full time in my father's factory. At seven- 
teen I unobtrusively disattached myself from all 
thai, taking in a big hurry an all-day local train 
to Pittsburgh (T didn't know there was such a 
thing as an express!) I had thirteen bucks; the 
fare was nine; and with the four I gathered my- 
self together and started life anew, my motto, 
Di omnia laboribus vendunt. 

I became in succession a tool grinder, a rail- 
road fireman, and a lathe hand. Just before my 
eighteenth birthday 1 sneaked up to Erie, Pa., 
spent several hours in the library reviewing all my 
knowledge, then hurried down to Allegheny Col- 
lege, at Meadville, and took and passed the 
entrance exams. (It was quite fantastic; don't 
ask me to explain.) I entered with twenty-five 
bucks, and lost sixteen of it the first day in a 
crap game. 

Ah, college ! 

Geeze, I'll have to be brief from here on; I 
didn't realize I had so much autobiography. 

I waited table and was janitor of the physics 
building — the start of my career in science. After 
the first year's work I teamed up with several 
pals and went west for a year and sold stereo- 
graphs and stereoscopes to half the farmers be- 
tween Canada and Mexico. 

At nineteen I returned to Philadelphia and my 
father's factory and entered the University of 
Pennsylvania. There one year, then got job as 
reporter. Quit that and with friends started a 
resort magazine at Ocean City, N.J., the "Beach- 
comber." Included stories under the name of 
Yvonne Eclair and handed out cockeyed love ad- 
vice as Wynsomme Wynnie. 

Came to New York and did newspaper work. 
(Concluded on page 240} 



D ISCUSSIONS 

A mazing Stories will publish in each issue a selection of letters from readers. 

★ Everybody is welcome to contribute. Bouquets and brickbats will have 
an equal chance. Inter-reader correspondence and controversy will be encour- 
aged through this department. Get in with the gang and have your say. 
OTMHItHMMBIlBIIIHiHIM 


MR. MOTUS' EAR 

Sirs: 

In the story, "Invisible Men Of Mars" by Edgar 
Rice Burroughs, there is one part I can't under- 
stand. How could Motus have his ear cut off 
when he was wearing a glass helmet? 

For reference, page 32 top of column 2, "Mo- 
tus wore a strange glass helmet . . ." Page 34 
bottom of first column, "I took off one of his 
ears neatly . , ." and bottom of column 2 same 
page, "As he fell, his glass helmet smashed . . ." 

This last statement shows that he had his glass 
helmet on all through the duel. Maybe you can 
explain it? 

Mrs. Jean Owen, 
7720 N. Hermitage, 
Chicago, Illinois. 

Yes, we can explain it. Mr. St. John, who 
Painted the cover, put that helmet on became the 
painting lacked "science" without it. Mr. Bur- 
roughs did not have helmets en his characters. 
So, your editor, very very efficiently! wrote in 
the helmet scene, tried ineptly to explain why, and 



danged if he didn't forget that doggone ear! But 
at least you can't say it isn't amazing. — Ed. 

FIVE REASONS . . . 

Sirs: 

There are five very good reasons why I buy AS. 
One: Paul's back covers. Two: always six swell 
stories to read. Three: plenty of swell illustra- 
tions by Julian S. Krupa, Robert Fuqua, Rod 
Ruth, and all the rest. Four: Ah yes, I mustn't 
forget the photos in McGivern's ya,rn "Convoy To 
Atlantis," by William P. McGivem. Five: the 
swell cartoons. 

"Convoy to Atlantis" was an exciting novel that 
won't be forgotten. 

Norman Green, 
1462 East 23rd Street, 
Brooklyn, N. Y. 

We have more than six stories to read this time. 
Does that make your number two reason better! 
And Rod Ruth, we predict, wiU have the fans 
throwing beer steins aloft in enthusiasm before 
very long. About those photos—some of our 
readers thmh they were retouched. We swear 
they weren't, and we have the originals to prove 
it. As to how we got 'em, we use a time ma- 
chine. Just see if it don't happen that way !— Ed. 

HMM! DOES HE MEAN US? I 

Sirs: 

It is truly unbelievable how a magazine can 
produce such a consistent high calibre brand of 
stories. I have been an ardent reader of Amaz- 
ing Stories for almost three years, and can hon- 
estly say that I have yet to read a story that I 
did not like. Congratulations, gentlemen, con- 
gratulations ! 

Nicholas Rapotis, 
21SJohn Street, 
Latrobe, Pa. 

We knew it all the time, but it's sure nice to 
hear you say it so definitely! Thanks.~*-Ed. 


Sirs: 


CUTTING DISCUSSIONS . 


"Pull over to Saturn, youiel" 


237 


You ask if we like the idea of cutting down on 
Discussions, No, no, a thousand times no. It 
should get at least ten full pages. The more and 



AMAZING STORIES 


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plaa and FTtES Rhyming Dictionary at oaw. 

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IKESSSilSL- 

V America School. Dept. H-939, Drexel at 5Bth, ChlMBO 


bigger departments the better. To heck with the 
stories ! 

Paul Cox, 
3401 6th Ave., 
Columbus, Georgia. 
We've fust about had our ears taken off by the 
readers who want to have us reinstate the longer 
readers column, so, back we go, next month, to 
a longer column.' However we won't agree, "to 
heck with the stories"] We're giving you extra 
stories this month, 96 more pages of 'em! —Ed. 

MR. & MRS. ACTIVE FAN 

Sirs: 

There are two main reasons for this letter re- 
garding the November issue. 

First, a few words about the observatory. I 
want to agree whole-heartedly with your state- 
ments concerning fans. My husband and I have 
recently become active fans, with a club, fanmag, 
etc. We have both been shocked at finding fan- 
dom so completely disorganized. And these feuds. 
Importance in fandom seems to be based on the 
amount of feuds that one is engaged in. We are 
vastly discouraged. Why can't the fans unite 
and pull together? 

My second reason is the November cover. 
Fuqua certainly did himself proud. That cover 
was the only thing that persuaded me to open 
the mag after the last issue. 

I should like to congratulate your companion 
magazine Popular Photography. Being rank 
beginners in photography, I cannot say how much 
help this mag has been. We have never been 
disappointed with an issue of it. Also of im- 
mense help is the Little Technical Library. 

Mrs. Lorraine Smith, 
1845 Prince Street, 
Berkeley, Calif. 
// yewr editor were to publish all the letters 
from readers who sprang up to defend our com- 
ments about the factors you mention concerning 
fandom, we really would have no stories in the 
issue. Now, with all this flood of opinion, we 
take hope. It seems the readers want organisa- 
tion and cooperation. It looks like it will come 
to pass. We'll certainly have more to say about 
it — and so will many of you, and old-time fans. 
We'll referee — but the battle isn't ours. We're 
non-interventionists in these things, until we get 
called nasty names without cause or proof. We 
get to "feudin" then tool — Ed. 

CONGRATULATIONS FOR KRUPA 

Sirs; 

May I congratulate Mr. Krupa on the "Night- 
mare" art! It was terrific. 

And those articles! And those cartoons! And 
that boy Glueckstein's priceless humor! Ah-h-b! 

Mrs. Dolores Lapi, 
42 -4 7th Street, 
Weehawken, N. J. 

Krupa will be tickled to know you liked that 
illustration. We always sneer at him — in fun! 
We only wish he had time for more.— Ed. 


AMAZING STORIES 


239 


NEW TRIPLE BENEFIT 
LOW COST LIFE POLICY 

INSURES WHOLE 

mmm family 


STORIES RANKED 

Sirs: 

I rank the stories in the November issue as 
follows : t 
***y 2 Convoy to Atlantis. 
***y 2 Armageddon, 1948. 
*** Stevedore of Jupiter. 
*** Nicolbee'6 Nightmare. 
*** Death Desert. 
**% Short-Wave Superman. 

Paul's back cover was superb. He always 
draws that way. Fuqua's front cover was so-so, 
Get Magarian back please, and more drawings 
by Krupa. The jokes ( ?) this month were awful. 

"Disciples of Death" better be good. It starts 
in the January Ubuc, I think. 

Thomas Moore, 
46 Poplar Street, 
Cambridge, Md. 
"Disciples oj Death" was crowded out because 
of our special issue. But we'll announce its ap- 
pearance later. H will be good! — Ed. 



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240 


AMAZING STORIES 


Help Kidneys 
If Back Aches 

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An iron-clad guarantee wrapped around each package 
assures a refund of your money on return or empty 
package unless fully satisfied. Don't take chances on 
any Kidney medicine that is not guaranteed. Don't 
j delav. Oct Cywtex (SIsb- 

fl" m# ^ * A V tex) from your druggist 
wV9lt?A today. Only 35c. The 
W Help* Flush Kidneys guarantee protects you. 


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and an unlimited BTperience of vocational expression. 
Read LEMUKIA THE INCOMPARABLE. 60 page book 
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CLASSIFIED ADVERTISING j 


SONGWRITERS ". Bend poem for our plan anrl FREE 
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READ FANTASTIC ADVENTURES 
ON SALE THE 20th OF EVERY MONTH 


MEET THE AUTHORS 

(Concluded jrom page 235) 


Wrote advertising copy. Was assistant book- 
keeper, salesman, and actor, on Broadway and 
in the sticks. Had a one-act play produced 
(Philly). Was laborer, then assistant cameraman, 
in movie studio in Yonkers. Somehow got to be 
editor of several magazines at Clayton's. 

Have since been, variously, publicity writer, 
bibliographer, perfessor of English (yes!), and 
writer of some Science Fiction yarns. Sell every- 
thing, but hate to write. I'd rather play tennis. 
Lately I've been turning into an inventor. Modus 
operandi desideratumisstme (Latin) : work hard 
and pleasantly for a few weeks, then sit back 
and receive royalties for seventeen years. I've 
had setbacks— the war, especially — and the start is 
particularly slow because it takes so long to get 
patents; but things look very, very good. 

Ah, inventor! 

Geeze, what a screwy life! Mebbe there's a 
lesson in it somewhere. Posterity.— Harry Bates. 


CORRESPONDENCE CORNER 


S. Cadgene, 306 Walnut Street, Englewood, 
N. J., has a large number of magazines— Cosmo- 
politan, Redbook, etc., which he wishes to sell- 
open to offers . . . Russ Bradbury, Company A, 
1st Medical Battalion, Fort Devens, Mass., would 
like to obtain a copy of Amazing Stories in 
which the story, "The Bridge of Light" appeared 
. . . Lawrence Collins, 1963 Maud Ave., Chicago, 
111., 17 years old would like boys and girls any 
age to correspond with him. He is interested in 
science, stamps, aviation, auto mechanics, read- 
ing sports, etc. . . . Harold Kleemeyer, 7103-69 
Street, Glendale, N. Y.. desires to correspond with 
anyone possessing February, March, April, 1927 
issues of Amazing Stories, also AS annual for 
July, 1927 and quarterly for February, 1928 . . . 
Blain R. Dunmire, 108 Maple Street, Charleroi, 
Pa., would like to hear from collectors from whom 
he can obtain first issues of SF mags. He would 
be interested in hearing from amateur writers of 
weird and interplanetary yarns, who might pos- 
sibly be interested in contributing something to 
his weird fan magazines . . . Fred Schendel, Caixa 
Postal, 424, Porto Alegre, Brazil, 19 years old, 


AMAZING STORIES 


241 


BEAUTY 
LOVE, Etc 
Round the 
World 



would like to receive letters from boys or girls 
of any age from all parts of the world. His hobby 
is snap-shooting . . , Corp. Robert M. Shinn, 
Company B, 160th Inf. (Rifie), Camp San Luis 
Obispo, California, wishes to get in touch with 
some of the Esperanto fans in Hollywood or Los 
Angeles . . . R. Gonzalez Puente Av. Prima vera 
N. 159, Tacubaya, D. F., Mexico, has for sale a 
complete collection of Amazing Stories, starting 
with Vol. 1, No. 1 (April, 1926) to Vol. XII, 
No. 7 (December, 1938) including all copies pub- 
lished, Quarterlies, Annuals, etc. . . . Jack Town- 
send, Box 604, Wilson, N. C, desires to cor- 
respond with fans interested in radio. . . . Neil 
Sheffield, 7107 Ave. E., Houston, Texas, 19 years 
old, is interested in our Latin-American neigh- 
bors. He can speak Spanish and would like to 
hear from persons who would correspond with 
him partly if not completely, in that language 
. . . Robert Burnett, 326 S. Second St., Rockford, 
III., would like pen pals, male or female interested 
in writing and electricity, — prompt replies . . . 
Robert Wise, 642 Evergreen Ave., Voungstown, 
Ohio, would like to correspond especially with 
inhabitants of Mexico or New Orleans. He is 
IS and interested in radio, stamps, physics, travel- 
ing. Also speaks French and Spanish . . . Pvt. 
Id. Joseph A. Saracena, 100 First Military Police 
Battalion, Fort Dix, N. J., would be glad to 
answer anyone in the western hemisphere . . . 
Dave Mcllwain, 14 Cotswold St., Liverpool, 7, 
England, wishes to get in touch with Esperan- 
tists and esp-ists-to-be in America, north and 
south . . . Brice Paulsell, 5929 Catina Street, New 
Orleans, La., wants readers of SF who are in- 
terested in forming a club to write to him . . . 
James Daley, 6 Bearse Ave., Dorchester, Mass., 
would like to exchange the Burroughs novel, 
"The Moon Maid'' for the "Land That Time 
Forgot" or "King Kong" . . . Tom Ludowitz, 
2232 Rainier, Everett, Washington, has the fol- 
lowing new books for sale at $1.00 each :— Carson 
of Venus; Lost on Venus; Pirates of Venus; 
Tanar of Pellucidar; At the Earth's Core; Pellu- 
cidar! A Princess of Mars; The Gods of Mars; 
The Warlords of Mars; Thurvia, Maid of Mars; 
The Chessmen of Mars; The Master Mind of 
Mars . . . James T. Kerr, 11 Nassau Road, Upper 
Montclair, N. J., would like to obtain copies 
of the first three issues of Fantastic Adventures, 
and also a copy of The New Adam . . . Lee W. 
Davis, ,3024 16th Street, Detroit, Mich., would 
very much like correspondence from both sexes 
who are interested in political economics and 
social science . . . George Naone, Medical Detach- 
ment, 298th Infantry, Schofield Barracks, T. H., 
wants pen pals on the mainland. He is 20 years 
of age and of Hawaiian ancestry, is five feet 
seven inches tall and weighs 150 pounds. His 
hobby consists of collecting pictures of all differ- 
ent countries, swimming, bowling, and playing 
baseball . . . Louise E. Hilliard, 16 Kimball Road, 
Arlington, Mass., would like to hear from anyone 
interested in history, art, travel, the Army, or 
fantastic fiction especially in the Regular Army 
or the Marine Corps . . , Dan King, No. 3 



World's Greatest Collection of 
Strange & Secret Photographs 

tups* bt« rhi To°uSie™of 1C Ttie aicurr MTuseiiM 

600 LARGE PAGES 

Here Is the World's Greatest Collection of Strange and Secret 
['holographs. Hero we exotie PhotOs from Europe. Harem Photos from 
Africa. Torture Photoa, Female Photos. Marriage Photos from Asia, 
Oceania, anil America, and hundreds of others. There are almost 600 
LARGE PAGES OF CAMERA SHOTS, each page 62 square inches. 

t 1,000 REVEALING PHOTOS 

Wr?i{f H Y evg T^3 u "^«' o* 

male slavery In China, Japan ."ladle, 
etc. Through the clone up of the cam- 
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every continent and female customs 
_* n . le 5 i0 ». EuraiK, etc. You are 

"""si 


. Europe, _ 
by ONE 
(OTOORAPHS 

ige photos. 


Corneals of 5-Yotenw Sit 

VOLUME 1 


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tlK- World 
Various Secret Societies 
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Female Slave Hunters 
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! METRO PUBLICATIONS 

70 Fifth Ave.. Dept. 1912, Htm York I 

Scad me "The Secret. Museum of Mankind'' (5 great vol- ■ 

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a, refund of tl. 98. (No foreign orders accepted at this low prioe!) ^ 

I Nam* as 

Address ss 

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242 AMAZING 
SHOPMEN . . . FOREMEN 
—Train= 

For the Job Ahead 

Take advantage of the great need for supervisors, fore- 
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the job tomorrow. It was built by experienced factory men 
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48 page booklet, "Modern Foremanship." ft tells of the 
opportunities and gives full details of our training. It's 
FREE. Mail this ad or write today. 

LASALLE EXTENSION UNIVERSITY 
4 Correspondence Institution 

Dept. 1275-MF, CHICAGO 



;a of the LATEST STYLES— remarkably LOW PRICES. SATIS- 
FACTION GUARANTEED or your money back. If ymi ai 
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SEND NO MONEY 


CASH PAID 

for old books and pamphlets. Thousands of no longer 
wanted books can be sold for premium prices. Send 
three cent stamp for folder describing kinds of 
old books and other literary property we buy. 

PENN BOOK CO., Box 2172, Philadelphia, Perma. 



Jsnlsh the craving for tobacco as 
thousands have. Make yourself f tea 
and happy with Tobaceo Redeemer. 
Hot a substitute, not habit forming. 
Write for free booklet telling of in- 
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L ?SI N BLACK ARTS 


Mvst.iV mind magic, palmistry, astrology, dream interprets 
tort line teilinfi and other oriental esoteric practices. Ful 
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front 25i« up. Highly instinctive and entertaining. 
Catalog for 3(: stamp. 

ASTUItO PUBLICATIONS, Dept. R 
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3< 



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Prof Mllonal Model y _ S- p Mto , C<>1> D .pt. C -13. < 


STORIES 

Cragmor, Colorado Springs, Colo., would like to 
obtain back issues of Amazing, before Sept. 1934. 
. . . Dick Shunk, 16, Route No. 2, Box 263, 
Sewell, N. J., wants pen pals interested in SF, 
chemistry, or automobiles . . . Calling Amateur 
astronomers ! Join the "I A S" (International 
Astronomical Society). Get in touch with Abra- 
ham Oshinsky, 2855 W. 25 Street, Brooklyn, N. V. 
. . . Earnest Oney, 617 Herrick Ave., Wellington, 
Ohio, has a large number of SF mags that some 
of you readers might like to buy. Also, he would 
like to hear from anyone interested in languages 
and archeology . . . Joris F. Martin, 2715 W. 
Yale Avenue, Denver, Colo., wishes to correspond 
with either sex, around 14 years of age, interested 
in SF and any kind of science . . . Oliver Brown, 
143-1 Jefferson Street, Duluth, Minn., would like ' 
to obtain the following: The Skylark series; In- 
vaders from the Infinite ; or The Stone from 
the Green Star . . . S. M. Ritter, 1160 Simpson 
Street, New York City has over 50 S-F mags to 
trade for '41 copies. Would also like to hear 
from those who enjoy reading non-fiction, par- 
ticularly history and biography . . . Harry Harri- 
son 141-45 78 Road, Kew Gardens, New York, 
is desirous of corresponding with anybody in the 
New York City area interested in aiding him 
publish a STFan magazine . . . Don Eastman, 
23.9 Sherman Ave., Council Bluffs, Iowa, would 
like to buy books by E. R. Burroughs. Also, 
he would like to correspond with girls about 14 
or 15 years old . . . Guiger Zwich, Just-a-Mere- 
Farm, Orchard Park, N. Y., Box 284, has all 
1940-41 Amazing magazines for sale at regular 
prices — also quarterlies. If Wm. R. Monty Ent- 
wistle will send his address at once, he can 
have the books he asked about . . . Patricia Loriot, 
21, 244-56 90 Ave., Bellerose, New Y'ork, and 
Jean Larsen, 20, 95-11 111 Street, Richmond Hill, 
X. Y., are lonely and want some pen pals 
around their own age . . . Walter A. Barrett, 
R. F. D. No. 1, Milford, Michigan, 31 and a 
bachelor, would like to correspond with members 
of either six who are interested in the study of 
Psychology. He can promise some very interest- 
ing letters containing many new and advanced 
ideas to anyone who cares to write ... BUI Hall, 
6923 Agnes Ave., North Hollywood, Calif., age 
17, interested in aviation, sports, music, reading, 
etc., would like to have correspondents. All 
letters will be answered . . . Gustav Youngkvist, 
973 47th Street, Brooklyn, N, Y., wishes to cor- 
respond with fellows and girls 15 and up, inter- 
ested in SF, will answer all letters and trade 
photos . . . Donald Branning, 8509 N. Newport 
Ave., Tampa, Fla., would like to correspond with 
anyone, anywhere, age 16 to 60. He is interested 
in Literature and Science ... Jo Claire Mc- 
Conckey, 65-10 79th Place, Middle Village, L. I., 
N. Y., desires pen pals. Can promise interesting 
tetters . . Robert Richel 12-13 Ellis Avenue, 
Fairlawn, N. J., has several back issues of FA 
and AS that he wishes to trade. Also wishes cor- 
respondents, preferably female, age 14 to 17. 
Would especially like to hear from Chester Hoey, 
New York. 

PRINTED IN U. S. A. 



c E H u I N E &teMcde£>No. & 

LfSMlTHl 


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BIO" carria9« D 14" carriage ($3.00 extra) □ 18" carriage ($5.00 extra) 
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231 Wast Monroe Street Dept. 1292 Chicago. III. 


OVER 200.000 SATISFIED CUSTOMERS ALL OVER THE WORLD 


GLASS CITY 
OF EUROPA 


( Moon of Jupiter ) 


The city of Oor, on Europa, is built of plastics. 
Transparent and opaque plastics make this 
a wonder city of ersatz science. Transpor- 
tation is by means of giant, domesticated 
insects. See page 234 for complete details.